


Saved by the Bells (of Doom)

by RockingRobin_69



Series: All is fair in love and war, but some things really aren't [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, First Time, Hurt Draco Malfoy, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Male Slash, Plotting, Savior harry, Slow Burn, Smut, Torture, this story is a ride
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:47:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 37
Words: 170,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27996990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RockingRobin_69/pseuds/RockingRobin_69
Summary: Harry comes back to his sixth year at Hogwarts after the loss of Sirius which he handles... as can be expected. For some reason, he finds comfort in stalking the shit out of Draco Malfoy, who seems to be sinking under the current of his own problems. Harry wants to help, naturally. Whether he can or not... and how much will this one cost... remains to be seen.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Series: All is fair in love and war, but some things really aren't [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2051154
Comments: 89
Kudos: 220





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There will be action, but it takes some time to get there. Slow burn, yeah?  
> There will also be discussions of past torture (though later), actual torture (much, much later), mentions of intended non-con (which doesn't really happen) and just some general unpleasantness all throughout. Harry wants to help, but Draco may not exactly see it as such and it will leave him a little prickly. There will be love in the end, though, duh.

Being back at the castle after what could be safely described as the longest summer of his life, Harry finally felt like he could breathe again. He spent close to two months face down on his bed in Privet Drive, talking to no one and looking at nothing. The last week of summer, with Ron and Hermione at the Burrow, was something like a dream; it was bright and loud and colorful and he could remember none of the details. His two best friends were very sympathetic towards his situation, and did not try to push too hard when he would just sit in between them and stare into space. Ginny wasn’t as patient, though, and neither was Mrs. Weasley; despite of course being very delicate with him, she seemed to believe the best thing for Harry to do was to stay active. Although he sighed a lot with Ron and Hermione behind closed doors, he was secretly happy to be given chores. Everything, and he did mean everything, was be better than sinking again into that dark, painful black hole in the pit of his stomach. Being left alone with his thoughts for too long really didn’t do him good. He was drained. And when he wasn’t morbidly tired, he was filled with such rage, it was hard to even contain.

 _I’m not thinking about that now_ , Harry said to himself sternly as he took the stairs to the castle. _I am not going back into that_. Now that he was here, finally at the place where he belonged, he didn’t need to put himself through all that anymore. He didn’t have to see the faces that were almost imprinted on his inner eyelids. He could be free once more.

Or, rather, close to free. Edging towards the Great Hall he had to stop and take a strangled breath. As if it wasn’t enough that absolutely _everyone_ was staring at him shamelessly, he just wasn’t sure he could face what would be waiting for him behind those doors. He hadn’t seen Dumbledore since their very heated conversation at the end of last year, and wasn’t sure he’s up to facing those blue eyes again. And then on top of that there was the face that haunted his waking hours, with the black eyes and the greasy hair… he just wasn't certain he would be able to see Snape without attacking.

And it didn’t matter how many times he told himself off, or heard Hermione whisper in his ear; he knew the way Snape treated Sirius was one of the reasons his godfather couldn’t stay behind. One of the reasons he was… the lump in his throat was extremely bitter. One of the reasons he was dead.

“You alright, mate?” he heard Ron speaking as if from a different planet, and did his best to pull himself back to the room around him. Apparently he was stuck at the very door to the hall, attracting many glances. He shook his head, steeling himself, and stepped in.

Just as he anticipated, the room went immediately quiet. Harry made his way through the stunned silence, keeping his head down, most certainly not looking towards the large staff table. He somehow got through and slumped on a seat at the Gryffindor table, where people at least had the common sense not to try and imitate dead fish. He raised his eyes and found out he landed next to Neville and Seamus, who were both smiling warmly at him. He struggled to smile back. Around them Professor McGonagall began preparations for sorting, and Harry barely even noticed it.

“What’s up?” Neville asked softly, and Harry was suddenly flooded with gratitude and affection towards the boy, and his smile became far warmer. He had grown a lot over the summer, Harry noticed; his biceps were actually noticeable under his sleeves.

“Been practicing, I see,” Harry looked at him appraisingly, and Neville flushed a little.

“Yeah, I’ve been doing some workout,” he said in a light tone, catching Harry’s eye. “In case you ever need to break into more Death-Eater-bustling locations this year.” And Harry laughed, a real laugh, maybe for the first time all summer.

“Looking good, mate,” Ron clapped Neville’s back as he sat down next to Harry, clearing a space for Hermione. “And how are you, Seamus? Had a good summer?”

“Ah, you know,” the golden-haired boy smiled a little wanly. “Fighting with me Ma all summer so she’d let me back in this year. Thankfully I was able to convince her that Hogwarts was the safest place with Dumbledore here, and all.”

Harry’s eyes did it automatically, without asking for permission; they found the old man at the head of the table, and for a moment Harry’s heart froze. He was sure the headmaster was looking right back at him. But then the second passed and Dumbledore turned to Professor Flitwick in a broad gesture, and Harry was able to look back down at his own table, suddenly wishing he was already in bed.

“Did you hear about the attack yesterday?” Dean’s voice asked somewhere to his left. “At the Muggle residence in Kent. They say that if Dumbledore hadn’t shown up, many more would have died.”

“Dumbledore showed up in a Death Eater attack?” Harry turned to him, surprised. “Didn’t think he’d do that.”

“Well, he told the Daily Prophet he just happened to be in the area,” Neville said with a large grin. “But come on, no one believes that. He grew a little tired of sitting in his office, maybe. Wanted to join in on the action.”

“Can’t leave all the fun to the Ministry,” Ron nodded admiringly, looking up at the silver-haired professor.

“I don’t know,” Hermione bit her lower lip, lost in thought. “It’s not like him, to leave Hogwarts, to take an active part. There must be a reason for him to do it.”

“What kind of reason?” Harry asked, but the girl just shrugged. Sorting began, and it was a little difficult to hold a conversation above the general uproar when each name was sorted into a house. Then all the noise in the room dissolved into non-existence as the headmaster rose to his feet.

“Welcome, welcome to another year at Hogwarts!” he said warmly, stretching his arms wide around him. “New and old, all those who are keen to learn are always welcome here. And learn you must, for this is our first and foremost goal. But there will be time to talk later; for now, eat!” and with that all the tables were suddenly laden with food, and Ron gave a low groan of approval.

“Finally,” he said as he stuffed his plate with everything possible, and Harry could just watch with distaste as forkful after forkful disappeared into his open mouth.

“Are you not hungry, Harry?” Hermione asked quietly, and Harry found he was struggling to meet her gaze. He shook his head and stared as the others were eating, but since for some reason the image disturbed him, he found his eyes wandering around the room.

The appearance of the food had at least pulled everyone’s attentions from him, Harry thought thankfully as he glanced at the chattering students. It was uncanny almost to be back here, to be so normally set up between hundreds of laughing and talking faces, as if he never left. As if he never just spent two months on his own, as if he'd never been to the Ministry. A shiver went through him and his search grew desperate, looking for something to land on, to distract him. And then his eyes found another boy who was not eating.

Harry didn’t notice it on the train, but obviously the others have, since they started talking about him almost at the same time. "He looks absolutely terrible," Hermione said in a low voice, following Harry’s glance.

“He looks ill,” Ron added with another mouthful disappearing into his throat. “Hermione and I saw him slinking away his prefect duties, as always. But he seemed like he could barely even walk, he was limping all over the place.”

“Luna has a theory he's a werewolf,” Ginny supplied from somewhere to Harry’s right, to general laughter. Harry smiled at her, but then brought his glance back to the blond boy. He really did look awful; he was paler than his usual self, far too thin, and had black bags under his eyes. At the moment he gave the full plates around him a thoroughly disgusted look, and Harry found himself wondering. What happened to the smug, haughty bully he'd known for so long? Had the events of the summer affected him, much like they affected Harry?

“He looks like something’s got him spooked,” Neville said quietly. Harry stared at the blond head, maybe a little too intensely, for the boy raised his glance to meet Harry’s. The moment their eyes met, Harry felt a shocking wave of hatred surging through him. It was like lava pouring from an underwater cavern deep inside him, and it was so perplexing, that he dropped his gaze immediately. He thought he could see Malfoy smirking in his direction, but he really didn’t have the capacity to take in anything more about him.

Startled out of his wits he turned to Hermione. “I’m not feeling very well. I think I’ll go up and lay down a little.”

“Harry, you’ve not eaten anything,” she said with concern, and Ron supplied something unintelligible through what looked like a whole potato. Harry shrugged.

“‘s fine, I’ll just put on the invisibility cloak and slip out, no one will notice.” He was anxious to get out, now; the closer people will be to finishing their meals, the closer they’ll get to Dumbledore’s speech. And it was of utmost importance that he wouldn’t be here for that; his shaky feelings, the residues of the burning detestation, were utterly frightening. He couldn’t take the risk – something told him that if he stayed any longer, he might try and do something stupid.

“Okay, I guess,” Hermione didn’t look too certain, but she caved under Harry’s pleading look. “The password is _Octavia_. But Harry, be careful, all right?”

“Sure,” he said, hardly aware of what he was saying. Bending under the table as if to tie his shoelace, he got the cloak he had stashed under his robes and covered himself. He glanced around cautiously; no one had seen. With a great sigh of relief he made his way out of the hall, very careful not to touch anyone, not to attract any attention. He had the sinking feeling that a certain pair of blue eyes was following him around the room, but there was no way Dumbledore could see through the cloak, and he carried on mercilessly. He will not stay here a minute longer, he will not listen to whatever it is the old man has to say, he will not look at the dreary Potions master seated to his left – he will not, he will not, he will not. Slowly pushing the doors and sliding through them without causing a commotion, Harry found himself out of the Hall, shaking.

He nearly collapsed against the nearest wall, trying to master himself. He didn’t know what the hell was going on with his body; waves of cold and heat went through him, and he thought he might actually be drowning in them. Everything was swirling around him, and he had to close his eyes. Harry could feel his heart beating wildly, his palms covering in sweat. _What the hell is going on?_ he thought hysterically, trying to force himself to relax. He had had a panic attack before, not too long ago on his bed at the Dursley’s. But this time was far, far worse; he thought the room might be crumbling into pieces around him, there was no oxygen in the air, and he was choking –

Hands clenching into fists he slammed himself into the wall, eyes shut forcefully, deep measured breaths blowing back on his face from the cloak. _Calm down_ , he commanded the raging sea inside his gut. _Relax, now. You are all right, Ron and Hermione are all right, everyone is all right. Nothing is happening, no one is attacking. Just calm down_.

It took a good few moments before he dared to open his eyes. Still a little shaky he stayed at the wall, gradually coming back to his senses, regaining control over his limbs. This was bad. He couldn’t let it happen again, ever. Harry needed to be strong, he needed to be cool minded and collected. He can’t be flailing all over the place and shaking like a little baby. He pushed himself from the wall, overly disgusted with himself, thinking hard. Those cold, hard feelings inside him didn’t subside over the summer, they just grew worse. His fear, his hate, his anger. Most of the time he was so confused by their mixture that he was left completely lethargic. But now he was back at Hogwarts, and now was the time to take action. He would go to Professor Dumbledore first thing tomorrow morning and speak to him. He would demand the old man to teach him, to show him ways in which he could train to ultimately achieve his goal. It is absolutely unbelievable, he thought to himself for the hundredth time, that Dumbledore would give him the news that he would have to battle Voldemort, and then just _leave him to it_. Unacceptable. He will not take it.

A low sound from the hall made him jump, before he remembered he was still invisible. Curiously he watched as a light figure squeezed through the doors and hurried away from the hall towards the dungeons.

Intrigued, Harry followed. Why would Draco Malfoy, a prefect, be leaving dinner so early? Harry watched as the boy walked ahead. He really was limping, quite badly even. A sudden rush of pure hatred filled him and he threw the cloak off his shoulders, pulling his wand out at the same time. “What are you doing, Malfoy?”

He turned so quickly, it was as if he expected to be followed. His own wand raised high, Malfoy gave him a scathing look. “What do you want, Potter?”

“Nothing,” Harry said innocently, taking a few steps towards him. “Just wondering why you’re sneaking away from the Great Hall, when everybody else is there.”

“Well, clearly you’re doing the same thing,” Malfoy retorted coolly. “Or are there different rules for the glorious Chosen One?”

For some reason, the anger in Malfoy’s voice soothed him. Smiling, Harry stepped even closer. “Just curious, Malfoy.”

“You should be careful with that,” the blond gave him a snide look. “You know what happened to the cat that shoved its nose in the wrong cauldron.”

“Oh, I’m not too concerned.” Harry took a final step, and now he was right in front him. Close up, Malfoy looked even worse; he was so pale, the only color in his face was in the very dark bags under his eyes.

“Maybe you should be,” he whispered, looking directly into Harry’s eyes. “Maybe you should be very, very concerned.”

“Why’s that?” Harry answered softly. “Are you planning to do something, Malfoy? Planning to keep your promise from last year?”

The smile on those thin lips was completely humorless. “There will be retribution for what’s happened, Potter. You must know this. Even you are not that foolish.”

“Retribution, you say?” Harry pointed his wand right at the boy’s chest. He was so close to him, he could feel Malfoy’s breath on his face, but the blond didn’t pull away. “Are you going to make me pay, or will you send your auntie to do the deed? Or perhaps, big old Voldy?”

Malfoy gasped, and Harry felt an immense sense of satisfaction. “Your insanity will come at a great price, Potter, and so will your vanity. You will not be so smart when you’re up against him.”

“Ah, I’ve faced him before, it’s really not a big deal,” Harry felt his smile becoming wilder by the second. “I’m not scared of him, and I’m not scared of you, Malfoy.” He pushed his wand into the boy’s chest, making him gasp again. “You can’t do anything to me.”

“You have no idea what I’m capable of doing,” Malfoy said in a dark tone, and Harry was almost surprised to see the revulsion in the grey eyes. “You don’t know anything, Harry Potter. Even though you’re Dumbledore’s Golden Boy, you know nothing. He can’t protect you against him, no one can.”

“Is that what you think?” Harry asked in a faux-worried tone. “How do you know what he plans to do to me, anyway? Did he finally take you in? are you now stupid enough to follow in your dad’s footsteps?” he threw the boy’s left side a look. “How’s your arm doing these days?”

“Whatever it is you think you know, Potter, you don’t. Keep your fucking nose out of my matters.”

“Oh, I might, but Voldemort sure won’t,” Harry said, and he could swear he saw something moving in the shadows on the pale face.

“You’re pathetic,” Malfoy said as he took a step back. “And you might want to be a little more careful with your accusations, Potty. You never know who might be listening.” His eyes twinkled with malice as Harry took a counter step forward.

“Where are your bodyguards, anyway?” He asked with interest, looking around and still walking towards Malfoy, leaving him no choice but to back up against the wall. “Usually you don’t move without them.”

“And remind me just how that is any of your bloody business?” He asked, tone rising slightly. When he reached the wall there was definite color in his cheeks. More amused than he’d felt in months, Harry took another step towards him.

“Not so brave without them, are you? Not sure you can take out little Potty on your own?”

“Oh, I’m sure I could take the Boy Who Lived on my own,” Malfoy nearly whispered, eyes narrowing again, “But then I’d have to explain to Dumbledore why his favorite hero is in so many pieces, and I’d like to spare myself the inconvenience.” His eyes flashed dangerously, and Harry saw sparks emitting from the tip of his wand. Extremely satisfied, and not exactly sure why, he took another step forward so his face was nearly touching Malfoy’s.

“I think you’re just scared,” Harry suggested gleefully. “I think you’re shit-scared, Malfoy. But I promise you that however frightening you find Voldemort, you should still be scared of me.”

Malfoy shivered when Harry said the name, and he could feel the grin on his face widen. “Get off me, Potter, before I have no choice but to hex you, and to hell with explanations,” he said in a low voice.

“I don’t know, wouldn’t want to get your hands dirty. Especially not the left one.” Harry started to pull his sleeve with his free hand, and Malfoy gave a palpable jerk against him, pushing him back and drawing his wand higher at the same time.

“I have no problem getting my hands dirty, Potter. It is you who seems to shy away from any real threats.”

Harry almost laughed. “Oh, that is so precious. I'm not scared of a little tumble with you, Malfoy. I’ve already faced your dad, and he’s supposed to be a little tougher than you.”

The grey eyes flashed dangerously. “As you wish, Potter,” he said, his voice calm but his expression wild. “Give me the time and the place. I’d be quite happy to oblige you. It seems like you need a good, healthy dose of fear forced into your thick skull.”

“Tomorrow night,” Harry breathed, and the boy in front of him closed his eyes as he drew his head even nearer and shoved his wand into Malfoy’s chest. “at the – “ but then he broke off quite suddenly, as noises were coming from behind the corner. Quickly both boys shoved their wands into their pockets, and that was a good thing too, for the person coming into the hallway was none other than Filch.

“What are you two doing skulking around the halls?” he asked with a stunned face.

“Nothing,” they both said quickly, then glanced at each other with disdain.

“I was just going back to my common room,” Malfoy said, back to his maddening, condescending tone. “Potter here was lost, I think. Poor soul.”

“I was just making sure Malfoy was alright,” Harry didn’t even look at Filch anymore, but rather focused all his anger, all his hate on the blond. "He seemed a little off it tonight, and I wanted to make sure he makes it back okay to his dorm.”

Filch was muttering something in the background, but Harry was too busy watching Malfoy’s face become a darker shade of pink as his lips parted in rage. Whatever nasty thing he was going to say was forever lost on his lips, though, when another figure emerged into the hallway.

“What is all this, then?” the familiar voice trailed through Harry like a bolt of lightning. He turned around slowly, feeling his body visibly shake. It was hard to focus on the newcomer’s face through the stupefying haze that filled his mind. If he thought he was angry seeing Malfoy, looking directly at Severus Snape was like staring at the face of a volcano. “Why are you two not at dinner?”

“I’m sorry, Professor,” Malfoy said quietly, and even through his rage Harry could still detect some tension in his voice. “I wasn’t feeling very well, and I was on my way to bed.”

“And you, Potter?” Snape’s cold drawl almost cost Harry his self-control. His right hand twisted around his wand vigorously as he forced himself to calm down.

“Same here,” he managed to say in the end, nearly choking on his words. The black eyes staring at him seemed like they were trying to drill right through his, but Harry was doubtful Snape could gather anything from his mind right now; Harry himself could not decipher a single one of his burning thoughts.

“I see,” he said finally, turning to Filch instead. “Well, then, I think you should take Potter to Gryffindor tower, to make sure he’s all right. I will take Mr. Malfoy back to Slytherin.” Filch looked just as horrified as Harry felt, but nothing like what Malfoy was looking. He was actually left gaping in horror at the Potions master, and if Harry hadn’t been so dazed he would have probably burst out laughing. Instead he followed the caretaker all the way up to the tower, ignoring his ongoing rant about the 'waste of his valuable time’ and whatever else the old man was raging about. He was still thinking about Malfoy and his odd reactions to the man that was always his favorite teacher. Why did he act like he was scared of him?

These thoughts bothered Harry until he got to the portrait of the fat Lady, but as soon as he entered the common room they disappeared without a trace. The room was sparkling clean, but not in a way that made him feel shitty like at the Dursley’s house; instead it was a warm, unassuming cleanliness, one that has already resigned to its short-lived fate. Soon this room would be busy with laughing people, littered with parchment and broken quills and candy wrappers. Soon it will be noisy and full of life. Taking a long, deep breath, he sunk into one of the armchairs near the fire and closed his eyes. Enough thinking about Malfoy, about Snape. Enough focusing on this burning, sickening anger. _Finally_ , he thought, letting his body relax into the comfortable seat and taking in the familiar smell. _Finally, I’m home_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry just can't seem to lose Malfoy, who is absolutely everywhere. It's not stalking when it's not your fault, right?

The next morning at breakfast Harry got his new schedule for the year, as Hermione briefed him about what he’d missed last night. “And Peeves got a couple of first years, they were nearly in tears by the time we got there, but it ended up okay.” She took a quick gulp of her pumpkin juice and resumed inspecting her day. “I should go soon, I want to get a bit of reading done before my Arithmancy lesson.”

“You didn’t say anything about Dumbledore’s speech,” Harry reminded her quietly. Not many people around them were listening in on their conversation; only Ron quirked an eyebrow, but he kept his glance on his sheet of paper. Further away down the table Seamus was telling Dean and Neville something that was apparently so hilarious, he had the other two spitting their juice all over their plates. 

“Oh,” Hermione said in her best imitation of nonchalant. “Right. Well, he didn’t say anything special, anything we… didn’t expect him to say.” There was a definite tinge of pink on her cheeks.

“He talked about me, didn’t he?” Harry asked, exasperated. 

“Only a little bit,” Ron interjected quickly. “He didn’t say much. Just that everyone should pretty much leave you alone, and focus on keeping themselves strong and safe. And looking out for all their possibilities, something like that.”

“Looking out for possibilities?” Harry asked with confusion, but the other two just shrugged.

“Yeah, I’ve been wondering about that part myself,” Hermione said in her thinking voice. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. You two should probably get going too, if you want to make it in time to History of Magic.”

“Urgh, are we still taking that?” Ron asked mournfully, but he only received a stern, slightly Mrs. Weasley-ish look from Hermione, so he packed his things and got up. “Oh, all right then… better go, mate.”

Harry followed him, still chuckling a little at his resigned expression all the way to the classroom. Not many people were taking this class for N.E.W.T levels, he’d noticed; Ron and him only did because apparently it was mandatory for getting into Auror Academy. Terry Boot and Ernie McMillen were there, and so were Hannah Abbott and Justin Finch-Fletchley, and… Harry’s stomach tightened as he spotted him: Draco Malfoy, again without his usual sidekicks.

“He really does look sick,” Ron whispered as they walked past him and took their seats at the back of the class. Harry wasn’t sure if he was imagining it, or had Malfoy become slightly flushed when he saw him. All through the lesson he did his best not to look his way, for whenever he did, the fiery monster of rage went roaring inside him again, and Harry seriously began to wonder if he was losing it. It was a great relief to leave the stifling room as soon as class was over, and he was able to take a few free breaths on the way to Transfiguration class… only to find the blond already seated there.

It was impossible; all through the day he was there, in every single one of Harry’s lessons, even at the Great Hall when Harry went for lunch. And all this time looking at him, Harry had to do some serious soul-searching. Yes, he always hated Malfoy, ever since their first year in Hogwarts; yes, Malfoy had been a complete prat to him in the past. But why, why is he feeling it so intensely now, ever since the summer? Why was he literally fantasizing about pummeling the pale face with his fists? He was getting worried. 

Then, that afternoon, he faced his first test. 

The new Defence against the Dark Arts teacher was a thin young woman with a black ponytail and very serious, deep-set eyes. Harry, who’d missed her introduction at the feast last night, got quickly filled in by Ron that her name was Professor Electra, and that she used to be an auror serving at the same unit as Tonks before accepting the job at Hogwarts. 

“Good afternoon, class,” she said in a soft voice as a swish from her wand shut the door behind her. Everyone mumbled something in return, which made her smile. “I can’t tell you how happy I am to be back in the castle. It sure feels like it's been a long time.” Harry smirked – that was an awfully old thing to say for someone looking so young. “However, it is not out of pleasantry that I agreed to return. As I’m sure you’re all well aware, the wizarding world is at the moment in a state of very real war, with You-Know-Who back on the surface. It is Professor Dumbledore’s wish that you learn anything you can to help you in case of an attack. Of course, you are all quite safe here in the castle,” she shot at the shocked gasp made by Pansy Parkinson at the back. “But just for the sake of your practice, we are going to try and make the situations you experience in class as realistic as can be.”

Harry shifted in his seat. He had been in _very real situations_ of attack before, and it was a little hard to imagine that the slender, beautiful woman in this cozy Hogwarts class could somehow simulate a real war. However, he was alert. Something about the fine lines around her mouth made him think he did not want to mess with her.

He was right. After listing a few defensive spells and making sure everyone in class memorized them, she had the students follow her out into the hallway. “We are going to divide into smaller groups to practice different scenarios. Every group is going to go back inside and face whatever is in there, together. Please note that your group will remain in the same form for the rest of the year; teamwork is something that can be absolutely crucial in times of need.” The way she spoke reminded Harry a little bit of Moody, and he wondered how much of her auror training is coming into light today. Despite himself, he started feeling a little excited. This was, after all, his best subject. And anything he learns here… well, who knows. It might help him in the future.

He was in rather high spirits, as were the rest of the students, until the Professor actually started to divide them. She seemed to be picking people at random and assigning them together, and the results were disastrous. For starters, Ron was stuck in a group with Lavender Brown, Parvati and Padma Patil and Dean Thomas; not that they were such a poor bunch, but after everything that’s happened between Ron and Lavender last year, Harry understood why he looked so uncomfortable. Hermione’s luck wasn’t much better: she had Seamus in her group, and Michael Corner who was harmless enough, but also Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini from Slytherin. Nonetheless, Harry was sure he got the worst team: though he was a little cheered up by the presence of Neville, he also had Ernie, who was a little too pompous for his liking, and of course, Malfoy. 

It was obvious from the very moment she started pointing fingers; Harry had seen it coming from the start. He knew that no matter how the division is going to go, he was going to get stuck with him. And losing Ron and Hermione, on top of that, was a little too much for him to bear. He sulked all the while when the other groups were taking their turns to return into the room. Their group was to go in last. 

“Pretty exciting, isn’t it, Harry?” Ernie asked in his usual self-satisfied tone. “Rather different than the Toad’s way of teaching, for sure. A little more like back in the old days of the D.A.”

“Yeah,” Neville chimed in excitedly. “Only this time we’d need to face some sort of attack, I suppose.”

There was an audible scoff from behind them, and Harry didn’t need to look to know its source. “You can rest assured, Longbottom. We are with the Chosen One, after all. He will be there to save your sorry behind when you fail, time and time again.”

“Shut up, Malfoy,” Harry muttered angrily, but Neville didn’t seem to be as affected by the words.

“I’m not concerned,” he said lightly, grinning towards Malfoy. “I know Harry’d have my back if I needed him; he already did, in front of _real_ Death Eaters. Funny, I think you know some of them.” 

If it was possible, Malfoy looked even paler than before. “What’s that, Longbottom? Barely able to contain your pride in how you needed to be rescued by the Boy Who Lived, I see. Of course, only being in his presence is such an honor.” He gave a mocking little bow. Harry felt his face burning. 

“What’s your problem, Malfoy?” Ernie asked in a slightly offended tone, but Harry shook his head. 

“You know, I’m pretty sure Neville is right. I think you do know some of the Death Eaters we’d seen back in the summer. We’ve fought against them, too. One of them seemed an awful lot like you; he even had your eyes.”

“Please,” Malfoy laughed mirthlessly. “You weren’t fighting; your precious Order was fighting. You were simply lucky to get out alive. A little too lucky, perhaps. Although, I heard not all were as fortunate as you in that little adventure.”

Harry was seconds away from running towards him, wand already raised in his direction, when the classroom door opened and Professor Electra signaled them in. Furious, it took Harry a few moments to notice his surrounding when he entered. But then instinct took over when a curse was shot directly at him, and he jumped behind an upturned desk and looked around, stunned.

It still looked like a classroom, just an absolute wreck of one. Desks and chairs were everywhere and in all levels of smashed; the chandeliers were broken, and fire had caught in the long drapes. Hidden behind poles and desks in front of them stood about five masked figures, looming tall and dark.

“Welcome to your simulation,” he heard Professor Electra say, and turned to face her. He saw Neville, Ernie and Malfoy all huddled together at her feet behind another desk, somewhere to his right. “Your mission is to neutralize the threat and leave the room alive. Of course, no one will be using any harmful curses, and our training-enemies will be heavily restricted. You will, however, be subjected to the Caeruleum curse, which will mark you with a special blue color. The more directly the curse hits you, the harder you will be hit by paint, so try to stay out of the way. If you are hit a critical amount, your paint will start to glow, and you will be out. Remember that you must work as a team in order to succeed. We will begin… now.”

Harry had barely a second to try and digest what was said when the curses were back to zooming over his head. He sent a desperate look to the others behind the desk, trying hard to think what to do. He knew that Professor Electra said no one will be actually injured, and that it wasn’t really dark wizards out there, but it still felt pretty damn bad. He took a moment to catch his breath, and then darted a look up.

Definitely five of them; Harry could see each of the figures stationed behind a different obstacle, around from which they occasionally sprang to shoot curses at their two desks. Another look at the others informed him that they were a little too busy bickering to try and formulate a strategy.

“Get _off_ me, Longbottom, you big dufus – “

“Shut up, Malfoy, we need to see what we’re up against – “

“Guys,” Harry tried, but they weren’t listening to him. “Guys. Guys!” still no response. He sighed, looking around the room for a way to gain their attention, and an idea lit up in his mind. He pointed his wand at the chandelier still standing over and to the right of the three and yelled, “ _Reducto_!” as he expected, it shattered with a loud bang, and shards fell near the others but not close enough to hurt them. Harry took the few seconds of general confusion to roll over to their desk. “We have to get that one first,” he shouted over the mayhem when curse after curse were shot in their direction. He pointed towards the nearest figure at the corner, only just visible from behind a pole. Neville caught on to his intention immediately and looked around. 

“There, Harry – from behind that chair over there, you’d have a free shot – “

“Cover me,” he nodded and sped towards where Neville was pointing, firing blindly ahead. He got the one in the corner, who exploded into thin smoke in a loud crack. He could hear the others firing curses around, but had no idea where to. Looking hard for cover, he dove behind a bookcase, and looked back out. 

“This one, Harry,” Neville shouted and pointed at a figure all the way to the left, not too far from where Harry was crouching. “Ernie, you take that one over there, and Malfoy, cover the one in the corner.” 

“Now!” Harry shouted, and he just sprinted forwards. One of the figures got him as he ran, and he could feel the blue paint hit his cloak. When he reached close enough to shoot, he felt another curse hitting him from behind, the spot where Malfoy was meant to be watching. Harry turned to look at him furiously, but he just shrugged and smirked, which almost had Harry changing his direction and running towards him with the curse. But the figure was right there, and Harry got it with a well-aimed “ _Expelliarmus_!” and it broke into little pieces and crumbled to the ground.

“I got another one!” Neville informed loudly, crouching in very little cover behind a desk so heavily laden with blue color, it looked like it might collapse. 

“Ernie, one of them is coming right at you!” Harry shouted, looking to the edge of the room where the Hufflepuff stood. Ernie didn’t need to be told twice; he bolted towards Neville, and now they were both stranded pretty much in the middle of the room behind the desk. The last two figures were making their way towards them from either side, and now was the time to think fast. “Malfoy, we need to help them,” Harry gave a shout, and started searching for ways around. “Here, I can go behind that bench, and you can run from the other side and we’d get them both at the same time. Ready?”

He only looked back a second, but he thought he met the grey eyes, and he thought he found some understanding in them. He even thought he got a nod. But as Harry ran from the left, he immediately knew Malfoy wasn’t going to make it. He threw himself down to avoid a curse sent right at him, and slid on his knees, aiming as best he could and getting the fourth figures exploding with a boom. But the last figure hit him square in the face; Malfoy was still somewhere behind it. Harry felt the paint hit him and it didn’t exactly hurt, but it was warm and wet and sticky, and what the hell – it started to glow all over him– and then Neville leapt from behind the desk and reduced the last one into a puff of smoke, and Harry fell to the ground, gasping.

Immediately the lights went on, and the classroom cleared itself of all the debris. Harry heard Neville helping Ernie back up and then coming to him and offering his hand. He looked at the others, his face now burning red underneath the blue. They all seemed out of breath, and Neville had some blue tinge on his shirt, but other than that they were fine. Malfoy hadn’t even seemed like he was in the fight at all, if he wasn’t sweating and panting so hard, holding his chest with both hands. Only he, Harry, had died in the game. He could feel the anger bubbling inside him now that the adrenaline rush subsided. 

“What the fuck was that meant to be, Malfoy?” he said, marching towards the bent figure. “What the hell were you playing at?” 

“I – didn’t – couldn’t make it – “ he started, but was too winded to continue. 

“Liar,” Harry whispered when he was near enough to him. He was vaguely aware of other eyes on them. “You did that on purpose. You wanted us to fail.” 

“Whatever, Potter,” the blond retorted a little weakly, and pulled himself back up. “it didn’t seem like you needed me too much, anyway. I thought the Golden Boy can handle this little game by himself.” His cheeks were almost as red as Harry felt his must be.

“You are going to find out very soon what the Golden Boy can do,” Harry breathed, pointing his wand at him. “You wanted to do this, didn’t you? Well raise your wand, Malfoy. Now.”

“Uhm,” said a little voice behind him, and Harry was startled to remember he was actually still in class, and that other people were still watching. Professor Electra walked from behind him and stared at the four boys. Harry was mortified, as a teacher has just basically heard him threaten another student, but she didn’t seem to mind. “Don’t worry; it’s natural for spirits to rise after such intense drills. Well, you didn’t do terribly bad,” she said softly, and then smiled. “Actually, you would have done pretty well, had it not been for the little incident near the end. Can anyone tell me what was the main issue in their performance?”

Harry heard Hermione’s voice as if it came from very, very far away. “They worked separately, instead of using their combined force as a team.”

“Very well, Miss Granger. Five pointes to Gryffindor. Now, before you leave, I want every group to sit together and discuss their strengths and weaknesses. Don’t worry – we will be covering a lot of ground this year, including fighting stances, tactics and spells, wand work and timing. By the end of the semester you all will have felt a great improvement already.” 

Harry had to take a few deep breaths before he could bring himself to where the other three were standing and very poignantly not looking at each other. He tried to wipe the sticky blue color off his face, and was met with stern resistance. “Well,” he said in a would-be light tone, “That sucked.”

“I’d say our strengths were Harry’s maneuvers,” Ernie said with a clap on his shoulder, and suddenly he didn’t seem so pompous or insufferable, “and Neville’s ideas. Our weaknesses… well…”

“Malfoy,” Neville said bitterly, and the blond shot him a dark look.

“I think our weaknesses were three idiotic, tactic-lacking buffoons who don’t know how to use their surrounding as an advantage,” he hissed and crossed his arms over his chest. “Also some terrible accuracy from you, Longbottom.”

“Didn’t see you get any of them, Malfoy,” Neville answered evenly, and Harry swelled with pride. He turned to the blond. 

“Sod off, Malfoy,” he concluded, and with a hand on Neville’s shoulder he turned and swiftly walked away, before his anger will pose a problem again. 

***  
The class he had been most concerned about, obviously, was Potions. Harry strongly suspected the Headmaster must have had some words with Snape, since Harry definitely did not receive marks high enough to enroll in N.E.W.T level class. However, he was in, and was fairly sure Dumbledore convinced the Potions master to change his bar this year. Ever since the very brief encounter with Snape on the first night, Harry dreaded spending a whole hour and a half with him underground. It was Wednesday when he finally had his first Potions class, and by that time Malfoy had managed to get him so completely off balance, Ron and Hermione started to look concerned. It was just infuriating how he was there, wherever Harry went; like a relentless, pesky shadow he couldn’t lose. And down here with Snape as well… he closed his eyes and prayed he can keep himself in check.

It seemed like he would have a slim chance, if any at all. The second the professor shut the door and opened his mouth, Harry found the memories flooding him, taking him miles away from the classroom and into the dark, hated house where his godfather was imprisoned. He remembered Snape goading him, taunting him… he remembered Sirius’s face the last time he saw him, how badly he wanted to tell him not to listen to his old enemy, not to take his words to heart. He didn’t then, and now regret overfilled him, and was verging on spilling out of his eyes. He gasped and buried his head in his arms before anyone could see.

Harry struggled to pay attention to anything that was happening during the lesson. He was so distracted, he tried to add the wrong ingredients at least four times, and Hermione had to pull his elbow to stop him from adding his Gurdyroot to her cauldron instead of his. By the end of the lesson he got the lowest grade possible for his potion, which honestly smelled pretty foul, but he didn’t care in the least. He just wanted to get out of there, out of this torture, and get the greasy long hair out of his sight…

He almost ran out of the room when class ended, stopping further down the corridor to wait for Ron and Hermione. He was a little surprised when he saw Malfoy hurrying after him, and the bitterness and sadness that filled him were too much to handle. He stretched out his arm and made the other boy halt before colliding into him.

“What are you trying to do, Malfoy?” he asked wearily. It was time to meet this head on; he could no longer take this agonizing rage whenever he saw the silver hair. “Why are you following me?”

“What are you talking about, Potter?” Malfoy asked in an icy tone. 

“You are everywhere I go. You were running out after me, just now. Spill it already, Malfoy. What’s your big plan here? Bother me to death with your ghastly appearance?”

“You are so full of yourself,” the boy answered, and hatred glinted in his eyes. “You think everything is about you, Potter. The boy who lived, our great hero. Everyone must be doing everything only because of you.” 

“Shut it,” Harry said tiredly, and suddenly his wand was out and pointing straight at the other boy’s chest. But Malfoy was prepared for this; he drew out his own wand and pointed it back at Harry. “Test me, Malfoy. Please, I am waiting for it. Honestly, I don’t know what else to do with all this… anger inside me.” It was alarming to sense how honest he was about this. Sparks were emitting from the end of his wand and catching the front of the other boy’s robes. 

“I’d already told you, Potter, I’d be more than happy to oblige,” Malfoy said softly, but his eyes were flashing madly. they both raised their wands a little higher, seeing who will be the first to attack. Harry opened his mouth just as Malfoy opened his, but neither of them was actually fast enough; both their wands flew out of their hands and landed straight in… damn it. Snape’s outstretched hand.

“Detention, Mr. Potter,” he said sweetly, and then before Harry could protest, “And you too, Mr. Malfoy. You will both report yourself to Mr. Filch’s office at eight o’clock tonight. I’m sure he’ll be glad to receive some help in his nightly duties.” He threw the wands back to the boys, and the second Harry had his he just took his legs and bolted. He had no intention to stay and look at the loathsome man any second longer, not with his wand in his hand, not with the fury roaring in his chest. It was too dangerous, and nothing good could come out of it. 

Breathing hard he decided to skip dinner and get a head start on his mountain of homework before he’d need to report for his punishment.  



	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being stuck together serving their punishment, Harry learns something about Malfoy. He isn't too pleased when he can't seem to get to the bottom of it, though. Mentions of some products of abuse on Draco's body.

Harry followed Filch without sparing a glance back to the blond walking behind him. He led them to a rather dark room filled with pans from the infirmary which they were to clean without using magic. Harry sighed and handed the caretaker his wand, watching the other boy doing so reluctantly. Apparently Filch was concerned they will start brawling again, but not enough as to actually stay in the room with them.

As soon as he left, Harry locked his jaw and set off to clean. The sooner he’s done, he reckoned, the sooner he could leave. And the sooner he could go back to ignoring Malfoy. But it was a little hard to ignore him now, when he was so close to Harry, especially as he wasn’t doing anything.

“What is it, Malfoy? Too good to be cleaning with your delicate hands?”

“As a matter of fact, yes,” he answered without the slightest bit of irony. “I’m not going to clean other people’s filth like a Muggle. It’s disgusting.”

“Well, I’m not doing all of it by myself,” Harry answered irately. He took one of the bedpans and threw it towards the blond with as much force as he could muster. Malfoy caught it, but it still made a loud, hollow sound that at least did something to relax the writhing snakes in the pit of Harry’s stomach. “Start cleaning, Malfoy, before I’ll use your hair to wipe it down.”

Maybe it was the threat, maybe the hard tone, or maybe just boredom of being stuck with Harry, but the boy had actually picked up some cleaning materials and got to working. Harry cleaned for a few minutes in the utter silence between them, and for a second he thought he can get by the night. But then he looked up and saw Malfoy staring right at him.

“What?” Harry asked hotly, and he lowered his gaze instantly, flushed. “What is it? Happy to see the Boy-Who-Cleaned?” 

“Shut up,” was the weak answer he got back, but Harry had had about enough. He got up to his feet and walked towards him.

“No, I really want to know. What is it about me that is so fascinating to you, Malfoy? Why do you feel the need to follow me everywhere, why are you always looking at me?” he got a little too close. Malfoy scrambled up to his feet quickly, giving him a cold look.

“Again with your delusions, Potter. No one is following you. I don’t care about you enough to follow you.”

“See,” Harry started in a mock-pensive voice, “I don’t think that’s true. Actually I don’t think that’s true at all. I think you are following me, and I’m sure there is a reason to that. What is it? Do you fancy me or something?”

“Even if I was into hideous, four-eyed prats,” Malfoy proclaimed evenly, “don’t flatter yourself. And don’t worry: I will never look in your direction again, your highness. I see you have gone a little paranoid of late. I wonder why that is.”

“You know full well why that is,” Harry bit out. He wasn’t in the mood for this verbal back-and-forth between them. “It’s your fucking father and his lot that make me that way.”

“I thought nothing can scare the great Harry Potter,” Malfoy retorted snidely. “Not the Dark Lord, not his Death Eaters, and definitely not little old me. So what is it really, Potter? Because I swear I could feel you staring at me all through Charms today. Maybe it is you who fancies me?”

“Hardly,” Harry said, taking a step even closer to him. Malfoy didn’t budge. “I just want to see what you’re trying to do. If you really are stupid enough to go in your father’s path. Also I don’t like your face.”

“My face?” Malfoy asked with the beginning of a smirk. “What don’t you like about my face? I can assure you it’s perfectly symmetrical.”

“I don’t like what it reminds me of,” Harry whispered. He looked straight into the light eyes, and wasn’t sure what he can see in them. He saw hate, yes, and fear, and maybe… sadness? It was hard to say. Other than that, it was like a miniature of Lucius Malfoy staring back at him. 

“You don’t even know my father, Potter.” Malfoy shot him a warning look. “You’ve barely even met. And in your last encounter you got out with the upper hand, so forgive me if I don’t feel so sorry for you.”

“You’d need a heart to feel sorry for someone else,” Harry grunted. “And to acknowledge that other people exist in the world, other than you. But you can’t do that, Malfoy, can you? You only think about yourself. Like in Defence class. The classic Slytherin.”

“You don’t know me either,” Malfoy said quietly. 

“Oh, I think I do. I think I know you very, very well. How many years now have you been bullying everyone around? How many years have you made it your mission to make me miserable?” Harry could feel it all swelling inside him: all the years of being mistreated, all the times he humiliated him, the injustice of it all … Snape always taking his side… Snape, in general… and Sirius… “How many times have you proved that you are nothing but a selfish, scared, evil fucking psychopath?”

“Potter,” Malfoy tried to stop him, taking quick steps backwards, but Harry wasn’t going to cease. 

“I can’t even try to think of a time you weren’t a slimy, duchy arsehole who deserved nothing more than to get properly punished – “

“Potter,” Malfoy spread his arms in front of him, and Harry could definitely see fear now, but he wouldn’t be able to stop even if he tried. 

“I’m tired of it, Malfoy. I’m tired of you, I’m tired of your dad, I’m tired of your fucking aunt, I’m just sick with the whole lot of you!” and with that he gave a push forward, hitting unsuspecting Malfoy straight in the chest. To his huge amazement, this light hit was enough to send the boy crashing against the wall and slumping to the ground, holding his chest, eyes scrunched in pain. “What the hell –“ Harry started, but it didn’t look like a ruse; the Slytherin was actually writhing in agony beneath him, and Harry could hear his soft groans of pain, see the little color leave his face.

“What on earth is going on?” he asked, genuinely concerned. His anger was gone, replaced by panic. Had he hit him so hard? How could he possibly have caused so much damage? “Stop struggling, you idiot, let me see,” he said as he tried to pull the blond’s shirt up. “Come on, let me – what the fuck?”

And he gasped, because he didn’t know what else to do with his gaping mouth. For underneath Malfoy’s shirt Harry had seen that his entire chest was just one, large bruise, its colors so bright it was hard to look at. The boy was so skinny, it was only too easy to see that one of his ribs was broken. He tried to skid away, but Harry was holding his robes and keeping him at the wall. “Malfoy, what the hell happened to you?”

“Get off me,” he said as soon as he could speak again, snatching the material of his shirt out of Harry’s hands and pulling it back down. Harry could swear he saw some cuts and burns on his stomach and chest as well. 

“Malfoy, what the bloody hell?”

“None of your damn business, okay? Get the fuck off.”

“No,” Harry answered immediately, not even thinking about it. “Who did that to you?”

“Why, are you sorry they beat you to it?” the boy grimaced, nostrils flaring. “It’s not your concern, Potter.”

“Well it just became my bloody concern, Malfoy. Tell me, now.”

“You can’t order me around like I’m one of your fanboys, oh Golden Boy. I’m sorry if my present state makes it harder for you to – how did you so poetically put it, “punish me properly”, but you’d have to accept that this is the situation. If you’d like to keep hitting me, at least let me catch my breath, and we can resume.”

“Hell, Malfoy, I’m not going to hit you – have you seen yourself? You need to get help, you need to go to Madam Pomfrey – “

“No, I don't think so. However if you do not mean to hit me anymore, I think we'd better get back to the pans, before Filch returns and gives us another night in detention. Because believe it or not, Potter, but I actually don’t want to spend any unnecessary second more with you.”

“Malfoy,” Harry said quietly, and looked directly into the grey eyes. “Who did this?”

“No one. I fell down a flight of stairs. How careless of me. Now, if you don’t mind…” Malfoy pushed himself against the wall and got back up to his feet. Harry remembered seeing him limping around, and wondered just how much further his injuries extend than his heavily bruised chest. The blond went back to where he dropped his pan and started cleaning it again. It took Harry a few seconds of debating with himself, but he ultimately followed the boy and continued to clean his forgotten bedpan. 

Then an idea came to him, and he nearly choked on it. “Malfoy, all this – is that why you were following me around? Were you trying to get my help or something?”

He heard the other boy sigh, then Malfoy got up and walked quickly towards him, stopping right in front of him. Harry was sitting down, and the blond who was usually his height was towering over him. “Let’s get one thing straight here,” he hissed. “I did not come to you for help, nor will I ever come to you. I do not _need _your help. Have you got it down in that tiny, dim-witted brain of yours? Never, Potter, and I do mean NEVER, will I need your help. If you don’t remember anything else of tonight, please remember this.”__

__“All right,” Harry nodded quickly, because Malfoy was starting to sound a little hysterical. “Whatever you say.”_ _

__“You will speak of this to no one,” He added, glaring down at him. “No one. This is none of your business, do you hear me?”_ _

__“Loud and clear,” Harry confirmed, not meeting his gaze. He didn’t know if he believed him. And those injuries were… well, they were absolutely horrifying._ _

__His answer seemed to satisfy Malfoy, since he took a few steps away from him and returned to cleaning. It wasn’t long after that when Filch came back to inform them they would have to finish tomorrow, as tonight he was going on another fruitless mission to fight Peeves. Harry almost ran out of the room before Malfoy could say anything more in his direction._ _

__***  
He kept his promise the next day, even though he was dying to speak to Ron and Hermione about it. The image of the boy’s tortured torso wouldn’t leave him alone. Harry had been injured a few too many times before, and spent a great deal of time in the infirmary. But through all of that, he had never seen anything so… he had no other word for it: cruel. Whatever was done to Malfoy, it was definitely done on purpose. It made Harry shiver just thinking about it._ _

__Somehow he managed to go through the day without making eye contact with him. Ron and Hermione seemed relieved when he finally stopped talking and speculating about the Slytherin. They couldn’t tell he was still doing it in his head. Before eight that night he bade them good night and took himself down to Filch’s office. They got the same task they never finished the night before, only now there were more bedpans. Sighing deeply, Harry surrendered his wand to the caretaker once more and set off to work._ _

__Malfoy was very clearly avoiding him. He acted as if by all accounts, Harry had ceased to exist. That suited him fine, though; it gave Harry the freedom to stare at him freely. He noticed all through the day how he was limping on his right foot, how he was holding his chest. He couldn’t last much longer._ _

__“Malfoy, what happened to you?” he asked a few minutes in, unable to continue in silence._ _

__“Still none of your business, Potter,” the Slytherin replied loftily, but Harry wasn’t taking that too seriously._ _

__“Someone did this to you. Someone hurt you. Who was it?”_ _

__“Why, are you going to send them a bouquet?” Malfoy was still intently not meeting his eyes._ _

__“Probably not, but it'd be good to keep the option open. Malfoy, you need to go to the infirmary. Madam Pomfrey could fix you up in a second - I know she’s seen much worse. And she doesn’t ask too many questions.”_ _

__“Stop acting like you give a damn, Potter. I told you before, I don't need your help. Just clean your pans and be done with it already.”_ _

__“I’ve seen you all day, you’re barely keeping it up. You can hardly even walk. I’m telling you, she’d be able to sort you out, no worries-“_ _

__“I said no,” the blond snapped, finally raising his head from the bedpan he was holding. “Gods, you’re pathetic.”_ _

__“I’m pathetic?” Harry asked, taken aback._ _

__“Not even a day ago you wanted to hex me to pieces. But I suppose the second you sense the chance to play the hero, you just can’t let it go, can you? Even when it’s me? Didn’t you just tell me how insufferable I was to you all these years?”_ _

__“Well, yeah,” Harry scratched his head. “You are the biggest prick in the world.”_ _

__“So why do you care so much? You just can’t turn down the opportunity to save someone, even if it's your biggest enemy. Fucking Chosen One with the heart of gold.” The bitterness in his tone was overwhelming._ _

__“You’re not my biggest enemy,” Harry said in surprise. Malfoy looked at him now, his eyes round and large in the candlelight._ _

__“So now that I’m wounded, I’m not even good enough to be your nemesis?”_ _

__“You never were.” Harry was honestly shocked. “Malfoy, you were never my greatest enemy. Voldemort is.”_ _

__Malfoy gasped at the name and closed his eyes. He seemed beyond angry. “Merlin, Potter, you’re unbelievable.”_ _

__“What? Why?”_ _

__“Because I fucking hate you!” he opened his eyes, and the grey was actually aflame. “I despise you with all of my being, and here you are, not even willing to hate me – trying to bloody save me – it’s too much, Potter. I will not accept it. I do not accept it.”_ _

__“I’m not trying to save you, Malfoy, relax – I just said maybe you should have those wounds looked at, that’s all.” He looked at the pale face. “Is there something I should be trying to save you from?”_ _

__“NO!” he shouted and jumped to his feet. “I’ve had just about enough with you and your condescending, holier-than-thou act, Potter! I know you better than that; I’ve seen the pettiness, the hate, the rage in you! Stop trying to be a bloody hero and just fucking fight me already!”_ _

__“I’m not going to fight you,” Harry looked up at him. Malfoy was walking towards him, shaking with rage. “Hey, calm down, I’m not going to fight you.”_ _

__“Oh, you bloody well are,” the blond muttered. “You are not my friend, Potter. You are not my alley. I am not some damsel in distress you can rescue. So get up, now, and fight me like a man.”_ _

__“No,” Harry persisted, crossing his arms. “Not when you’re like that, okay? When you’re all healed up, maybe.”_ _

__“Maybe? So now it’s a maybe? Might I remind you again that only yesterday you were speaking of punishing me?” the dark glint in his eyes made Harry shiver. “Get up, Potter, and get off your high horse. I do not need your pity nor your charity. Get up.”_ _

__“I’m not going to – look, you’re hardly even walking! I’m not going to fight you like this!”_ _

__“Always so noble,” Malfoy stopped for a second, resting against the wall for support. Then he carried onwards. “Always so kind. the great Potter, protector of the Mudbloods and the rest of the scum. Our great hero.”_ _

__“Shut up,” Harry felt his cheeks redden. Malfoy was pretty close to him now. He took another slow step and stopped right above Harry. “Quit it, Malfoy. I really don’t want to do this.”_ _

__“Is that what you tell your little Mudblood before you fuck her at night?” he nearly whispered. “Or is that the blood traitor Weasley’s job?”_ _

__“Shut up about them,” Harry said, but he could feel his hands clenching at his sides._ _

__“Or maybe it’s not them you go to – maybe you prefer the company of other creatures entirely – perhaps your big dog?”_ _

__And just like that he was on him; Harry’s fist found Malfoy’s face and punched, hard. The blond was fighting back, but he wasn’t stable on his feet, and he nearly collapsed into the wall. For a few glorious seconds, Harry didn’t care about that; he didn’t care about anything. He kicked and punched every centimeter of the Slytherin his limbs found, and the satisfying sounds of the dry blows were like music to his ears. His fist making contact with the hard bones was like a revelation; he could be doing this all day, every day. He'd been _dreaming _about doing this.___ _

____But then reality kicked back in the form of a sharp moan, and Malfoy was on the floor, clutching at his side. Harry blinked a few times and then, cursing loudly, threw himself on the ground next to him._ _ _ _

____“Get off me, Potter, I’m warning you – “ but he wasn’t listening; his hands tore at Malfoy's shirt, revealing the bruised chest and a long, bleeding gash at his left side._ _ _ _

____“I didn’t do this,” Harry said blankly, only able to stare at the ruined body. “I didn’t do this.”_ _ _ _

____“No, you just made it open up again,” Malfoy muttered, gritting his teeth. He looked like he was desperately trying to hold back from crying in pain._ _ _ _

____“Well you nearly forced me to,” Harry threw the blame back, and Malfoy just shrugged._ _ _ _

____“I don’t want you to – OW – pity me, Potter. You are the last person whose help I need.”_ _ _ _

____“So you do need help,” Harry mumbled, taking his own shirt off and trying to use it to stop the bleeding. “You admit it then.”_ _ _ _

____“Not from you,” the blond said darkly, and then let his head fall back on the floor, leaving Harry in charge of the still bleeding wound. Hardly daring to look, Harry glanced again at the bruised chest. It was in all shades of green, blue, yellow and purple. The broken bone still seemed to preside over all of it, and Harry could tell by the hitched breaths that it was hurting Malfoy immensely._ _ _ _

____“You need to go to the infirmary. This is bad. I really think you should go.”_ _ _ _

____“I can’t,” the boy replied softly, and Harry just caught the desolate look in his eyes before the pale face went blank again. “And I’m not going to. So get off me, already, why don’t you.”_ _ _ _

____“Why can’t you go? Who’s stopping you? What is going on?”_ _ _ _

____Malfoy sighed and grabbed Harry’s shirt from his hands, rubbing it gently against his bleeding side. Then he handed it back to Harry and pulled himself up slowly, covering his torso. “That is still none of your business, Potter, so you might as well stop asking. I'm not going to change my reply.”_ _ _ _

____“It was him, wasn’t it?” Harry asked, and for a second he was sure he saw pure panic in the grey eyes. “It was Voldemort.”_ _ _ _

____“You don’t know anything,” Malfoy said, and his eyes narrowed. “Drop it, or I will force you to fight me again.” He gave a dark little laugh._ _ _ _

____“Why did he torture you, Malfoy? What did he want?”_ _ _ _

____“You can finish this by yourself,” the blond replied coldly and heaved himself up to his feet. “Seeing as you’ve set my healing progress back by at least a week, I think you pretty much owe me that.” And without another word he turned and left the room. Harry could just stare at where his figure disappeared, mouth still wide open._ _ _ _


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry makes Draco talk. There's a very vague discussion on how he was abused.

Harry could not, as it were, drop it. All night his thoughts went back to Malfoy’s face contorted in pain, to the bleeding gash at his side, the horrible bruise. He was sure he was right; he was absolutely certain Voldemort had done this to him, and forbids him now to receive medical treatment for it. The question was, why? Some sort of initiation? punishment, perhaps? His mind was reeling with possibilities.

It was strange, how quickly his old obsession could be replaced by a new one. The next day at Potions class he hardly even noticed Snape, as he was so focused on Malfoy. He sat on the bench right behind him, and took his first opportunity when the professor turned his back.

“Why did he do it?” Harry bent forward and whispered in the boy’s ear. Malfoy trembled and turned to look at him, startled.

“Leave me alone, Potter,” he breathed before turning his head back to the board and furiously copying the potion recipe to his notes.

“But why did he do it? And when? It looks pretty recent. Is he living with you now?” Ron sent him a suspicious look, but Harry only smiled in return. He made it seem as if he was only trying to see the board better.

“Let it go,” came the impatient whisper, barely audible. “Quit it.”

“No chance,” Harry replied, leaning over to smooth his parchment. “Tell me, Malfoy.”

“Sod off, Potter.”

“Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Potter. Am I interrupting something?” Snape’s cold voice made Harry’s stomach lurch unpleasantly.

“No, Professor, sorry,” Malfoy answered quickly, head bent to his quill. Snape’s dark eyes lingered on him for a second longer before they moved on to Harry.

“Not another word in my class, then,” he said quietly, and put down his wand. “Pair up and start working on your Wakefulness Serum. By the end of the lesson you should be at least at the cooling phase, and then by next week we could work on the second stage.”

It only took a second, and Harry wasn’t even fully aware that he was doing it, but he slid forward and took the empty seat next to Malfoy. He smiled at him as he brought his cauldron from the desk behind, dropping his notes next to the Slytherin’s elbow. “Looks like you’d be partnering up with me, seeing as your two cronies aren’t bright enough to be taking this class.”

For some reason, Malfoy looked absolutely mortified. He didn’t argue, though, as Snape started to walk past his desk and looked at the students starting up with their potions. With a slightly shaky hand, the blond picked up a knife and started chopping up beetle heads.

Ron and Hermione gave him puzzled looks from behind, but Harry ignored them. He made sure that Snape was all the way across the room, glaring over two Ravenclaws, when he turned his head to the boy next to him. “Tell me, Malfoy, or I will just keep bothering you.”

“You are a nasty little imp, Potter, and you can bugger off for all I care. I am not telling you anything.” Malfoy was keenly staring at the beetles he was squishing.

“Is that so?” Harry asked loudly, and the blond head shot up to him.

“Be quiet,” he warned. Harry grinned at him.

“Be quiet, or what?” he asked in no attempt to lower his voice.

“Be quiet or I’ll cut your tongue off with this very knife, that’s what!” Malfoy looked pretty close to the edge. Harry’s grin widened. He looked about the room as if searching for something.

“Professor – “ he began, not loud enough for the man at the other side of the room to hear him, but enough to make Malfoy’s eyes almost pop out of his head.

“Shut up! Potter, shut up right now!”

There was a brief silence. “You really do seem upset, Malfoy. what’s eating you up?” Harry asked, watching the Potions Master walking around the room. When his eyes returned to his partner, he was surprised to see the look in the grey eyes.

“Please,” Malfoy said urgently, and Harry was a little alarmed to hear the sudden change of tone. “Please stop it. Not here.”

“Why? Is it Snape? Why are you so scared of him? Is it because he’s a Death Eater?”

“Potter, I’m begging you to drop it,” Malfoy whispered, his eyes huge. “I told you, I don’t need your help. Please, let it go.”

“Tell me already, and I promise I’ll shut up.” Harry wasn’t even sure why he was keeping this act up: he was growing quite worried by how terrified the boy seemed to be. He just knew he had to keep going, because if he let go of this, he didn’t know where else his rage will take him.

“Fine,” Malfoy said eventually, eyeing him up warily. “I’ll tell you, but not here. Please.”

“All right,” Harry said, making sure Snape is still quite distant. “Tonight then. The Room of Requirement.”

“Where?” Malfoy sounded confused.

“Where you caught me last year with Umbridge. Seventh floor, you’ll see a door. Meet me there at nine.”

“ _Fine _,” the boy’s tones grew more panicky as the professor neared them. “Now for the love of all the gods, Potter, shut _up _!”____

 _ _ _ _T____ hey continued to make their potion in silence. If Snape thought it was strange that they were making it together, as he was wont to, he didn’t show it. He remained unusually quiet around Harry, not addressing him even once to mock his shoddy potion-making skills. Harry could feel Malfoy tensing up every time the man was looking their way, and curiosity nearly consumed him. It was such a relief to have something else to think about during this nightmare of a class, besides how deeply he loathed its teacher.

Upon leaving the room there was no more possibility to evade his friends. “What do you think you’re doing, Harry?” Hermione asked in a low tone as they made their way outside for dinner. “Why were you all up on Malfoy like that?”

“I wasn’t all up on him,” Harry wrinkled his nose in disgust. “I was questioning him. I want to know what happened to him.”

“Honestly, mate, why do you care?” Ron asked in despair.

“You should have seen it,” Harry said distractedly, but then he caught on to what he said when his two pals stopped abruptly in the hall and stared at him. He could feel the blood warming his cheeks.

“What exactly did you see, and when?” Hermione asked in her no-nonsense voice.

“When we were cleaning with Filch, I accidentally… shoved him a little. I didn’t see everything, but I noticed a huge bruise on his chest, and one of his ribs was broken.” Harry said it all very quickly and quietly, looking at them sternly. “He asked me not to tell, so I didn’t say anything, but it’s really bad. And he refuses to go to the infirmary, and I have to know why. I think… I think Voldemort did this to him.”

“What?” Ron nearly shouted, appalled. Then he took a steadying breath. “Harry, why would You-Know-Who hurt the son of his right-hand man? This makes no sense.”

“It might make some sense,” Hermione wondered. “After what happened in the Ministry, I’m sure he’s not very pleased with Lucius. But still, to just attack his son like that… it does sound odd. Did he tell you that’s what’s happened?”

“Not in so many words,” Harry kept it brief. “He didn’t want to tell me anything at all. I thought for a second that maybe the reason he was suddenly everywhere around me was that he… wanted help from me, or something. But he was pretty adamant about me keeping my nose out of it.”

“And why don’t you, then?” Ron asked, brow raised. “Why do you care about what You-Know-Who does with him, anyway?”

”I don’t care about him,” Harry replied with a snarl. “I care about Voldemort, trying to understand how he thinks, why he does things. I also had the idea that it might have been… an initiation of some sort.”

“I don’t know, Harry,” Hermione said in a worried voice. “If he doesn’t want you to help him, I don’t think it’s wise to go looking for trouble in his direction. Nothing good ever came out of the two of you together. If he really was in trouble, he could go to Professor Snape or Dumbledore. I don’t think you should get involved.”

“I already told you, I’m not trying to help him,” he repeated, a little exasperated. “I just want to find out what happened.”

“You do have a tendency to try and help broken people heal, Harry,” Ron said, shaking his head. “But he’s not worth it, mate. He’s not worth your time or your concern.”

“I’m not doing it for him,” he said, starting to feel like a broken record. And it was the honest to God truth: he wasn’t doing this for Malfoy. He couldn’t care less about the boy. But he sorely, desperately needed a distraction; he needed something to focus his anger on. And this was too good of an opportunity to miss: he got to upset Malfoy and learn about Voldemort, all at the same time.

“Just be careful, Harry, okay?” Hermione said, and he sighed and nodded. They got to the Great Hall and started filling up their plates. Automatically, like they have all week, Harry’s eyes traveled to the Slytherin table and found the blond boy squeezed between Crabbe and Goyle, toying with his fork as they gulped down their food. Again Harry noted to himself that he wasn’t eating. There was a weird sensation in his belly whenever he looked at him now, a mixture of pity and loathing. It was intense, and it made it difficult for him to concentrate on eating, so he quickly gave up with some excuse and made his way up to get a start on his homework.

By the time Ron and Hermione returned he had already finished his essay for Transfiguration, and started on his moon map for Astronomy. Silently they slunk down on the armchairs next to him and pulled out their own homework. They worked for hours without saying a word, as the room around them grew rowdier, until Harry had to put his pen down in annoyance. Who can even think in such a racket?

“I’m going to go now,” he said to his two friends, even though it wasn’t even half eight. They looked at him with a combination of agitation and acceptance.

“Here, take this,” Hermione said before he could leave, taking a little bottle filled with yellow liquid out of her bag. “It should help the bleeding parts, at least. It might make the bruises a little better, too. But for the broken bone, he really needs to get it set with a spell.”

“Thanks a lot, Hermione,” he said and accepted the bottle from her. He didn’t know why he was feeling so nervous.

“Just – don’t go believing everything he tells you, all right?” Ron said in a low tone. “I know that people in pain are like your… soft spot. But it’s still Malfoy we’re talking about, and if he’s really got something to do with You-Know-Who, then it’s even shadier. So keep your eyes open, okay?”

“Of course,” Harry replied, but he wasn’t just a little rattled. What did Ron mean, that he had a soft spot for people in pain? It’s not like he’s going to take Malfoy to heart now or something. He was sure the Slytherin will put up a fight, but Harry was going to get the truth out of him. And if not, he will keep torturing him around Snape until he’ll cave.

He made his way to the seventh floor smoothly, checking the map for any possible intrusions. There were none: Filch was in his office, Snape was in his dungeon, and McGonagall in her room. A quick glance told him Dumbledore was not in his office, but as he scoured the map for his name, he could not find him anywhere. At any rate, he wasn’t in Harry’s path, and soon he found himself standing in front of the familiar stretch of wall. Slightly panting, he walked past it three times, thinking hard. I want a place where we could talk. A place that can make him tell the truth.

The third time around Harry opened his eyes and looked as the door formed in front of him. He took a breath and turned the handle, walking quickly inside.

And nearly jumping back out. The room didn’t look anything like Harry had seen before; it almost seemed like a prison cell, dark and windowless and hostile. There was a chair in its center, with shackles around it, like the one he’d seen in court in the Pensive. On a table behind it was an array of – Harry quickly looked away, sick to his stomach. He didn’t know exactly what these devices were, but he was sure they had an unpleasant purpose. There was also a sneakoscope on the table, which Harry grabbed immediately for reassurance. it spun in his palm in a swift motion, making him slightly ill.

“Not exactly what I meant,” Harry said desperately to the room, but of course there was no answer. It looked like… well, like the room thought he was going to actually force Malfoy to speak to him. He quivered slightly. At least make another chair, he thought, and a chair formed in front of his eyes. There was no more time to make any other adjustments, though, because at that exact moment the door opened and Malfoy walked in. Harry closed his hand around the small sneakoscope.

He saw Malfoy’s eyes widening with shock, and noted the slight tremor in his body as he gulped down heavily. “Come in, before someone sees you,” Harry ordered coldly, and the boy came forward and closed the door behind him. He almost dragged himself towards Harry, eyes still very wide, and swallowed hard when he got to standing in front of him.

“This – this is where you practiced, last year?” He asked in a horrified tone. Harry saw his shoulders sagging.

“No, of course not. The room we had was much bigger, and it had lots of space for casting spells and all. This time the intention is quite different, though. I just wanted a place where we could talk.”

“Talk,” Malfoy repeated, eyeing the shackles around the chair. “I see.”

“Sit down, Malfoy,” Harry gestured towards the seat he was looking at, and dropped onto the other one himself. He turned the chair so it was facing the seat with the shackles. Looking a bit like he is walking directly to a noose, Malfoy sat down and closed his eyes. Harry watched with dread as the shackles shifted lightly in the non-existing breeze, and sighed with relief when they calmed. Malfoy seemed to share his feelings.

“So what did you want to talk about, Potter?” He asked quietly, daring to breathe once more.

“You know what I want to talk about. I want to know who attacked you. And I want to know why.”

“I thought you already knew who did this,” Malfoy said snidely. Harry eyed him up with surprise. “I thought the Boy Who Lived knows everything.”

“Come on, Malfoy. Stop stalling. Just tell me.”

“Why do you need to know so bad?” Malfoy asked regardless, giving him a stern look. “Why do you care?”

“Look, if you don’t tell me, I’m just going to go straight to Snape. He’s not much better than you, I’ll admit it, but he would at least tell me what the hell is going on.”

The grey eyes grew wider, then narrowed down. “He wouldn’t tell you shit, Potter.”

“Maybe not. But then I’d just go to Dumbledore, and he would make Snape tell him. And like you are so fond of saying, I am rather close to the headmaster, so there is a good chance he will tell me.”

Harry watched quietly as his words were taking effect on the pale face. Malfoy lost whatever color he had, and he swallowed hard again. Harry waited. “All right,” he said in the end, lowering his gaze to the shaking hands intertwined on his knees. “Fine. I will tell you. But it’s not going to do you any good, and there’s really nothing about it that you will find remotely interesting.”

“Try me,” Harry suggested with a shrug. Malfoy sighed.

“It wasn’t the Dark Lord who did this. It was Fenrir Greyback.”

“Greyback? The Werewolf?” Harry choked a little on his own gasp. “But why? Why would he attack you?”

“He has been living with Mother and me ever since my father was sent to Azkaban. He was assigned by the Dark Lord to watch us.”

“Watch you?” Harry retorted, confused. “Why for?”

“I’m sure it was partly punishment for my father’s failure,” Malfoy answered flatly. “But it was also to keep an eye on us, make sure we weren’t… getting any wrong ideas.”

“Wrong ideas? What kind of wrong ideas?”

“Just ideas, Potter, don’t fuss about it. You can be certain that nothing of the sort happened. Greyback was just being a little… overzealous, I suppose.” He gave Harry a very cold look.

“And he attacked you?” Harry asked a little redundantly, his voice barely over a whisper.

“Yes,” Malfoy answered through his teeth. “Obviously, he has.”

“Was – was Voldemort there when he did it?”

Malfoy took a deep breath, and then closed his eyes. “Some of the times. He was there the last time, the night before school began.”

“And he just – what, watched Greyback assault you?”

“Not exactly,” Malfoy said, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. The shackles made a loud metallic sound, and he opened his eyes immediately and looked at them in alarm.

“Did he… attack you as well?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Malfoy said quickly. “It was more to make a point, rather than anything else. Then he made me promise not to go to Madam Pomfrey, and that was that. Are you happy now? Am I finally excused?”

“What point was he trying to make?” Harry asked quietly, feeling the sneakoscope spinning faster and faster in his hand.

“Nothing that you should know, Potter. And nothing I can repeat. You got your answer, I told you who did this to me, now can I go?”

“Show me your left arm.” Malfoy looked straight into his eyes, shocked. Harry shrugged. “I just need to make sure.”

With an annoyed sigh, Malfoy raised his left sleeve, and showed Harry his pale and very bare arm. “Okay? No dark mark there. I am not yet a fully realized Death Eater.”

“Not yet?”

Malfoy snorted. “Yes, Potter. Not yet. I still need to prove my worth to him, before he will let me join.”

“You’re kidding me,” Harry said with surprise. “After he attacked you? After he sent bloody Greyback to live with you, you are still going to join him?”

“You don’t understand even half of it, Potter,” Malfoy spat, annoyed. “And I’m really not going to explain any more to you. Now are we done here, or were you actually hoping to use any of these torture devices on me?”

Harry wondered why he kept asking him if he could go, and not just went. He played with his wand distractedly, and noticed how the grey eyes were following the movement almost in trepidation. Then something occurred to him, and he had to check. He pointed his wand at the boy, who brought both his arms up as if to defend himself. Harry gasped. “You came here wandless?”

He shifted again in his seat. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

“I thought you said we were enemies, Malfoy. I thought you said you wanted to attack me, and I had already hit you several times. Why would you come here, knowing full well I’m going to be armed, without your bloody wand?”

Malfoy shrugged and mumbled something under his breath. Then he looked at Harry again. “You know what, Potter, I think that if you were going to attack me, you would have done so by now. So if you don’t mind,” he said and deftly got out of the chair. Harry was so shocked by his realization, that the boy was already at the door when he remembered.

“Oi!” he cried out, and the blond turned to look at him. “Wait, I have something for you.” He brought the little bottle out of his pocket and showed it to him. “It’s for your wounds.”

“Where did you get that?” Malfoy asked suspiciously, but he neared him nevertheless and took the bottle from him. “I’m… I’m not sure I can use it.” He sounded absolutely flattened with embarrassment.

“You were forbidden to go to the infirmary, not to take care of yourself. Jesus, Malfoy, you can’t keep walking around with this. Just put some of it on, it will help at least a little.”

He was surprised when the boy plopped back on the seat and took off his shirt. Harry was sure he would want to do it somewhere more private, his room for instance. He couldn’t help but look again at the colorful chest in front of him. It was as mesmerizing as it was gruesome.

Malfoy poured some of the potion on his shirt and dabbed his gash and bruise with the liquid, and had to moan in relief when the potion eased the pain. Harry could see the wound closing up right in front of his eyes. It was making him slightly sick all over again.

“Why doesn’t Snape help you?” he asked, unable not to. Malfoy brought his weary grey gaze to him. “He’s been your father’s friend for years. He likes you. Why doesn’t he help you?”

“You’ve said it yourself,” the Slytherin answered quietly. “You know what he is, where his loyalties lie. You know who he reports to.” He took a deep breath. “Look, Potter, you can’t tell anyone about this. Anyone. Not your little crew of loveable misfits or your precious Professor, alright? If word gets out, I’ll be in serious trouble. Like, head separated from shoulders kind of trouble. And it’s not just my life on the line, so please, keep your trap shut. Okay?” he took one leg of his trousers up and Harry gasped as he saw a deep open gash running all the length of his shin. He started dabbing it with the potion.

“Of course,” Harry said quickly, squirming a little. He wondered if he should tell him that Ron and Hermione already knew a little, but the boy looked like he was in so much pain, so he just swallowed the words whole and stared at him. “Are you going to be alright, going all the way down to Slytherin?”

“Yes,” Malfoy mumbled, getting up slowly. “It’s… better already. Thanks.” He lowered his head, as if it was unbelievably hard to say the words.

“No problem,” Harry answered a little thickly. Malfoy raised his head quickly.

“This does not mean we are friends, Potter. And it does not mean I want or need your help. You are to stay the hell away from me, do you understand? I told you what you wanted to know; now leave me be. And may I never again have to endure your presence.” he left the room, slamming the door behind him with a bang, leaving Harry way more perplexed than he was upon coming in. He rested his head in his hands and thought hard.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry does not relent.

Harry spent the entire weekend thinking about what Malfoy had said. He tried to keep true to his word by not telling the others any more about the conversations, but the little they had already heard from him made it not so difficult to guess, judging by his reactions, if he was at least correct in his assumptions or not. In the end he gave up and told them everything, thinking they would be at least willing to help if they got the whole story.

“I don’t know about this, Harry,” Hermione said as she looked down at her now complete essay. “I just really don’t think you should get involved. He told you he didn’t want you to, anyway. Can you imagine if the situation was reversed, and Malfoy would be offering to help you? You’d be so angry, you’d curse him right there and then.”

“Well I didn’t go and get myself messed up with Voldemort like he has,” Harry retorted, somewhat irked. He thought she would at least say they should try and help him, if not give him an exact idea of how. Ron wasn’t any better.

“Mate, it’s bloody Malfoy we’re talking about. He’ll be fine, his family is mixed up in this dark business for decades. He can take care of himself, and it would be a waste of time to worry about him.”

“I’m not worried about him, Jesus,” Harry furrowed his eyebrows in frustration. “it’s not like I care about him personally or something. But we’re talking about someone who was attacked by Voldemort, who is being threatened by him!”

“He didn’t seem to really mind that, did he though?” Ron asked pointedly. “He definitely told you he’d still sign up with him the first chance he got.”

“Yes, Harry, Ron’s right. I think that trying to meddle up in this will only be a waste of time. If Malfoy wants to deal with Voldemort, what’s it to us? What can you do, anyway?”

“I don’t know,” Harry said, sinking lower into his chair. What could he do? It’s not like he could tell Malfoy to switch sides or anything. He didn’t want him on his side, for that matter. And it’s not like he could somehow suggest to protect him from Voldemort. But to leave him to that madman’s mercy seemed… evil. It felt like the wrong thing to do.

And still, he had to admit there wasn’t much else he could do. over the next few days he resigned to watching Malfoy limping from afar, though his injuries seemed to get slightly better, at least by the way he walked. He still didn’t eat, though; Harry watched him turning down food meal after meal. Their team was a complete mess in Defence class again, though this time at least Harry didn’t die. Slowly he thought that perhaps he really should give this up as a bad job, and shift his interest elsewhere. His lessons were definitely absorbing enough, and the ever-growing mountain of homework kept him busy; but he missed the mental distraction of theorizing over the other boy.

Then, near the end of the week, came his second test. He was walking with Ron and Hermione to Herbology class when all of a sudden he heard a faint groan and then a clash. Turning around he saw the familiar blond head on the floor, bag dropped next to his limp body. No one else was in the corridor. Not really giving it much thought, Harry dashed over to him.

It looked like Malfoy fainted. Harry knelt next to him, turning him on his back and trying to get him back to his senses. The other two hurried to them, and Hermione did a complicated-looking movement with her wand, that got the blond gasping and waking up immediately. His eyes were hazy, and for a moment he seemed like he didn’t know where he was. Then he came into focus and looked around him, alarmed.

“What's going on? Get off me, what do you think you’re doing?”

“Relax, Malfoy. You passed out. Are you okay?” Harry bit his bottom lip, looking at him with concern. In the short period of time since he was last close to him, Malfoy seemed to get into even worse shape. He was thinner and more tired looking than before, the black bags prominent under his eyes.

“No, I’m not okay, you idiot! Get off me, now!”

Ron tugged his sleeve and the three of them got up. His friends gave him pleading looks. “Let’s go, Harry. You heard him, he doesn’t want our help. We could go get a professor or something to come and help him. Come on, let’s go.”

“You guys go ahead and tell Professor Sprout I’ll be late, okay? It’s fine, really.” He gave their worried looks a reassured smile, and watched as they turned and walked away. He got back to Malfoy’s side and offered him a hand. “Come on, don’t be a prat. Get up.”

The insult seemed to pacify him enough; he took Harry’s hand and allowed himself to be pulled up. “I would have been fine on my own,” he said briskly, dusting his robes. “I didn’t need your help.”

“No, of course not. You never need anyone’s help. What were you doing fainting all over the place, though?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I just felt a little weak, and then I fell. It’s probably nothing. Please, you can lose the hero act and go back to class. Consider your mission accomplished.”

“Malfoy…” Harry sighed. He eyed the blond wearily. “When was the last time you ate?”

“What?” Malfoy asked, incensed. “Why do you care about that now?”

“Because that’s why you passed out, you twit. You’ve not been eating anything recently, and your body needs food. Malfoy, I really think we should go to the in-“

“No!” the boy roared, yanking his arm from Harry’s grasp. “I’ve already told you I’m not going to the infirmary, Potter, so stop suggesting it all the time. And how come you’re watching what I eat?” he cocked a light eyebrow. “Goodness gracious, are you still trying to rescue me?” he sounded highly aggravated.

“It’s just pretty obvious,” Harry mumbled, scratching the back of his neck. “Look, just – just try to eat something every once in a while, okay? Maybe then I won’t have to bloody rescue you.” He tried a smile, but it wasn’t long lasting.

The annoyance died down on the pale face and was replaced by something Harry was a little startled to see. “I can’t,” Malfoy said in a crackly voice, lowering his gaze to the floor.

“What’d you mean, you can’t? It’s not like he’s told you not to eat or something?”

“Of course not,” Malfoy’s voice rose a little, and he looked up again. “It’s just that…” he swallowed hard, shivering slightly. “During the summer, with Greyback there, he forced me to – I had to watch him… feast. It was the constant threat, you see. One step out of line, and I will be his next meal. Hadn’t been able to… well, I didn’t have much appetite since then.”

“That’s terrible,” Harry breathed, shocked. To think that anyone would have to go through this, even Malfoy, was deeply disturbing. The boy seemed lost in thought, and despite himself, against his every instinct, Harry found that he really did feel sorry for him. “You don’t have to do it, Malfoy.”

“What?” he zoomed back to him, staring at him wide-eyed. “I don’t have to do what?”

“Go back to him. You don’t have to join Voldemort. You can – hell, you can speak to Dumbledore about it. You can try to do something about it.”

There was a very dangerous light in the grey eyes as Malfoy opened his mouth to answer. “I did not ask you to solve this for me, Potter. I’ve been nice up till now, or at least nice enough. I will not be nice anymore. Drop the subject, or else.”

“Or else, what? You’ll attack me?” Harry snickered. He stopped abruptly when the Slytherin’s wand shot straight to his nose. “I see you have your wand today.”

“Of course I do,” Malfoy didn’t hesitate. “I don’t want to hear about this again, Potter. I’ve told you, no one can know. No one. Did you understand me then? Do you understand me now?”

“Uh-huh,” Harry panted, looking at the piece of wood too close to his eyes. “Now will you lower your bloody wand before every teacher in the building rushes over here?”

“I want to hear you say it,” Malfoy continued in a low voice.

“Say what?”

“I want to hear you saying you will stop trying to help me.”

“Malfoy, I – “

“Say it!” sparks flared in front of his nose, and Harry gulped. “Say it, Potter!”

“Fine, whatever. I will not try to help you. Now, please…” he pointed towards the wand. Still enraged, the blond took his hand down, stashing his wand back in his pocket. “Just – just bloody eat sometimes, okay? Then these things wouldn’t keep happening.”

“Don’t you worry your little head about it,” Malfoy snarled at him, then turned the opposite direction and stormed away. Harry watched him with mixed feelings of guilt and regret. And above all, confusion. He really had to ask himself, why did he want to help the Slytherin so much? Why did he even care? Was it only so he didn’t have to think about his own grim life, his losses? Was it because he thought it could somehow change the inevitable fight he will have to have? He wasn’t sure. He only knew that watching the boy limp away from him felt sour in his mouth. He sighed and made his way to class.

***  
It was driving him mad, but he just couldn’t leave this thing alone. Everywhere he looked he saw the blond head, and he couldn’t keep himself from checking at every meal to see if he was eating, to see if his limping was still improving. It got him so furious, that he actually wasn’t speaking to very offended and bewildered Ron and Hermione. Why, why did he care about Malfoy? Why couldn’t he just stop thinking about him?

Defence against the Dark Arts class proved to be a total nightmare. Every lesson they faced different types of threats in different simulated terrains, and it was only the four of them. It was practically impossible to ignore Malfoy in these lessons, as he had to try to work with him to get through the challenges. And then on Monday Professor Electra said something that terrified him to his very bones. “We’re going to divide into pairs today, and try a slightly different scenario.”

There was nothing to it. Harry would never let Neville take on Malfoy alone, and Ernie wasn’t any keener than him to partner up with the Slytherin. Reluctantly, Harry walked over to the blond almost like he’s walking towards his own death. Malfoy had the audacity to smirk.

“Stuck with me, then, Potty? Oh, poor little Golden Boy. Don’t worry – at least it will be quick.”

“I really wish you’d stop calling me that,” Harry grunted, rubbing his eyes. “It’s starting to get on my nerves.”

“Good, then it’s finally working. Took you long enough, I’d say.”

“Honestly, Malfoy, could you just…” Harry looked at him, miserable. “Just shut up, okay? I have zero patience for you today.”

“Ooh, Potter is sullen,” the Slytherin sneered, and Harry felt his cheeks flush. “What is it, Goldie? No one to save today, so you’re a little grumpy?”

“Seriously, shut it,” Harry warned in a low voice. Neville and Ernie were on the other side of the room, planning their strategy, like they were meant to be doing. For a second he was going to suggest they do just that, but gave up before even trying. They’d just go in and improvise, like they always do. It wouldn’t matter anyway; he couldn’t work with Malfoy. It was simply impossible.

“Shut it, or what?” the boy asked in a wide smirk. Harry felt the familiar anger bubbling inside him.

“Or I’ll tell Dumbledore exactly what happened to you this summer,” Harry threatened half-heartedly. He didn’t really mean to say it; he was just so tired of the Slytherin’s behavior, and he couldn’t take it anymore. He turned to look at Malfoy who stared at him hard, and started to feel a little ashamed of himself.

“You wouldn’t,” he said in disbelief, gauging him. “You promised that you wouldn’t tell anyone, Potter. What is it about Gryffindors and their promises? Something like, they never break them?”

“Well I’m sorry to tell you I already did,” Harry admitted quietly, unable to keep lying. Malfoy was right; he was being dishonest, and he shouldn’t have been. The boy in front of him went whiter than chalk.

“You what?” he muttered, shocked. Harry found he can’t quite look at him.

“I kind of told Ron and Hermione. Before you asked me not to. And then when you did they’d already known, and, well… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to lie about it, I just didn’t know how to tell you.”

“Potter, you idiot,” Malfoy whispered, his eyes wide and angry. “Who else knows? Tell me!”

“No one!” Harry swore, raising his hands in defence. “Malfoy, they wouldn’t tell anyone, I promise you. Look, it’s really not such a big deal, it’s not like you’ve told me so much – “

All words were stolen from his lips at the next second, though, because Malfoy lunged forward and pushed him against the wall forcefully, grabbing his arms so hard it hurt. The fury on his face was intimidating. “You absolute fool,” he whispered, and even his tone wasn’t so collected anymore. “You idiot, you don’t know what you’ve done, what you could have – my mother, Potter, he is going to bloody kill her – you pretentious, overbearing, self-righteous piece of – “ but he had to pause as the other pair ran to them and broke his grip. Neville held Malfoy’s hands behind his back as Ernie gave a strong push at his chest, and he crumpled into their arms like a house of cards. They don’t know about his broken rib, Harry thought desperately, watching the two holding him down.

“What’s going on, Harry? Are you okay?” Neville asked, breathless. Obviously he was expecting some kind of a fight from the boy he was holding, but Malfoy was still in his hands, trying to catch his breath. He looked at Harry with such rage, such loathing, that he found himself actually taking a step back.

“What are you trying to do, Malfoy?” Ernie asked bravely, putting his arms on Malfoy’s shoulders as he started to move, writhing to release himself from their grasp.

“Let me go, let me go right now, I have to – Longbottom, you big slob- LET ME GO!” he sounded desperate, and in pain, and Harry was torn. Thinking hard, he looked at his friends.

“It’s okay, Neville, you can let him go now. It’s fine, I promise.”

“But Harry,” Neville gasped, gesturing with his chin towards the battling blond. Harry shook his head.

“Don’t worry, it’s going to be alright. We just need to talk –“

“TALK?” Malfoy screamed suddenly from behind Ernie, and Harry shuddered at his tone. “Talk?! Do you have any idea what you’ve done? Do you have any idea?” he seemed to have exhausted himself and crumbled into Neville, woebegone. The two boys let go of him, startled, and he hardly even raised his head.

“Mr. Longbottom, Mr. McMillen, you guys are up.” Professor Electra’s voice carried through the hallway, and Neville glanced back towards her.

“Are you going to be alright?” he asked in a low voice. Nodding, though he was completely unsure, Harry sent him over with a smile. The two left and now he was alone with Malfoy who was heaving over the wall, one hand on it to hold himself up.

“Malfoy, I’m sorry, I really am sorry. It was – it was before I knew what was going on, exactly. And I swear to god, they are not going to tell anyone, and neither am I. I’m – I’m so sorry, Malfoy.”

The boy closed his eyes, his head bent down. Harry suddenly wished he was fighting again, screaming and pointing his wand at him. Now he seemed… broken. “If anyone finds out about – about what the Dark Lord requested me to do,” he started, almost inaudible, and then sniffled. “He’s going to kill her, Potter. Just like that. Kill her.”

“I’m sorry, I had no idea. Please, I mean it, I really didn’t – I never expected – “

“Why would you?” Malfoy interrupted, finally looking at him. “Why would you ever even think about that? I’m just a selfish prat, aren’t I, always thinking about myself.” The bitterness in his voice seemed to seep into Harry’s own heart. “I asked you, Potter. Damn it, I begged you to leave me alone, to let this go. And now…” he took a deep breath. “If anything happens to her…” but he couldn’t continue; agony and fear made it impossible to go on and he could just stand there, defeated, eyes looking somewhere that was much farther than the wall in front of him. Harry didn’t know what to do. He wanted desperately to say something, to do something, but he had no idea what.

“I’m sorry,” he said in the end, barely even managing to whisper. “Malfoy, I’m sorry. Please let me help you. Please.”

“You can’t help me,” he said in a low voice, and then turned and left without offering another word or explanation. Harry felt like his heart is about fifty pounds heavier as he saw the blond head disappear, and it had nothing to do with the fact that he would now have to think of some excuse as to why the two could not perform their class challenge.

***  
“It’s really very sad, Harry, I agree with you, but you know that the only thing we can do now is go to Dumbledore. What else are you suggesting?”

Harry threw his hands up in the air, upset. “He doesn’t want to go to him, Hermione! He thinks they’ll kill her the second he does!”

“Well, then why did he tell you?” for a second he was stumped, but then returned Ron’s gaze.

“He kind of had to, didn’t he? I sort of blackmailed him into telling me, by saying I’d go to Dumbledore.”

“I don’t know, mate. He could have lied to you. He could have told you a very different story if he wanted. If the most important thing to him was to protect the truth so he could keep his mum safe, he could’ve just blabbed about something else and distracted you.”

“He – no – I would’ve known if he was lying, I had a Sneakoscope-“

“Yes, but he didn’t even try to lie! He told you everything straightaway. Almost like he wanted to tell you.” Hermione looked at Harry like that should mean something to him.

“Well, so what if he did? Maybe he wanted my help, he knew I couldn’t turn down someone who’s family is being harassed by Voldemort!”

“But Harry,” Hermione pleaded, “he told you himself, he is working for Voldemort! He asked him for something, gave him an assignment!”

“And?” Harry shouted back.

“And? Harry, how can you trust someone who’s working for Voldemort? How can you trust a single word he says?”

“I – “ Harry began, then paused. He looked down at the other two, a little surprised to find himself standing. “You should have seen him. You would have believed him, too. He was telling the truth, I just know it.” the common room was abnormally quiet, as it was a late hour and nearly no other students were about. In the silence between the three, the only sounds were the crackling of the dying flames.

“Okay, Harry, so maybe he was,” Ron said cautiously. “Maybe You-Know-Who is really threatening his mum. But then that doesn’t solve the problem of the mission he got from him. You can’t honestly trust Malfoy when he’s literally told you he’s going to serve him.”

They were actually begging him, Harry could hear it in their voices. And they were right, of course. He knew that. But he still couldn’t just walk away. He sunk back into the armchair and looked at them, beat. “What can we do, then?”

“Only go to Dumbledore,” Hermione said, relieved. “Harry, he’s the only one who can help him. You know that.”

Harry chewed on his lip for a little while, staring at the flames. God, how he wished Sirius’s face would pop out of them right now and give him some advice in his bark-like voice. It was with a pang that he realized he hadn’t been thinking about Sirius as much these past few weeks. It was a weird, painful feeling in his gut. He felt like he might be sick.

“You know, the way Crabbe and Goyle are acting is pretty weird,” Ron added when the conversation seemed safe enough. “They almost look like they’re bossing him around, giving him orders. Surprised me to bits; I couldn’t have told you they are even able to compose full sentences.”

Hermione giggled, but Harry tensed on his seat. “Of course.” The other two looked at him. “This is how he controls him here, why he was so afraid to go to the infirmary. Because they’d know, and they report back to him. Or maybe, to their fathers, and from there to him. So he’s scared they will say something wrong and risk Narcissa’s life.”

There was silence when each of them was thinking about that. Then Hermione looked at Harry again with concern. “You have to go to Dumbledore. It’s the only thing to do.”

“Yeah,” Harry closed his eyes. It’s just that he was quite sure that if he did, Malfoy would break completely apart. He sighed and sank deeper into the seat. He needs to make him see reason.

The Draco Malfoy Mission was only just beginning.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry wants to help. He really, really does. So what if Malfoy isn't exactly letting him?
> 
> Or: the chapter where we discover Draco's bedroom colors!

The first problem was trying to find some time to speak to him alone. Harry didn’t have much time as it was, what with being captain of his Quidditch team, classes and homework, and occasionally trying to eat or sleep. And on top of that, it became quite evident that Malfoy was avoiding him. He didn’t want to speak to him, which was so infuriating, because if it had been the case three weeks ago, Harry would not be in this situation right now. But the days wore on, October was colder and draftier than ever before, and Harry found that he just can’t get that boy quick enough now that he wasn’t limping anymore.

One day after Charms he felt absolutely desperate, and waited at the class entrance for him when Malfoy forgot to run away the second the lesson ended. He waved Ron and Hermione on and they left, exasperated and sighing heavily. Then when it was only Malfoy in the class, since he absolutely refused to leave the room with Harry standing there blocking the way, he got back in and shut the door.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he said in a soft voice, and the grey eyes shot up to him with annoyance.

“Very cleverly observed, Potter. I never pegged you for the detective type. I suppose you’d want a medal for that?”

“Shut up, Malfoy. I just wanted to talk.”

“I have nothing to say to you,” the Slytherin answered coolly, getting to his feet. “So leave me alone already, won’t you? I have no use for a belligerent stalker.”

“God, you’re such a prat,” Harry buried his face in his hands, annoyed. It was when they were finally together and speaking that Harry felt least certain about wanting to help the boy in the first place. Malfoy was just so… he took a deep breath. “Listen, I know you said over and over that you don’t need my help, but I think you do. I know Crabbe and Goyle can’t help you, because they are reporting back home.”

Malfoy gave him a dry, unimpressed look. “So you’ve figured that out too. Good for you. Still doesn’t mean I care.”

“Listen, Malfoy, I can –“

“What is it with you?” he cut him off, enraged. “What the fuck is wrong with you? I’m telling you that I’m going to work for your worst enemy, your own words, and you're trying to help me? You’re insane, Potter. Absolutely insane.”

“So – so you haven’t done it, yet? What he’s asked you to do?”

“No,” Malfoy grumbled, staring at the wall straight ahead. “I’ve – not yet.”

“You’re not sure you’re going to do it,” Harry gasped, looking closely at him. “You’re still debating it over.”

“What? No! of course not, Potter. You can’t _mull over_ a mission from the Dark Lord. You either do it, or you perish. I just… I just don’t know how to do it, yet.”

“Right,” Harry said, but he was convinced he was correct. “Look, until you actually do it, you're innocent in my book.”

“Innocent? Me?” there was disbelief in the grey eyes. “Have you completely forgotten who it is you’re actually trying to help? You must be swimming too deep in your own denial to see it.”

“Well, maybe not exactly innocent, but… well… I mean, you’ve not killed anyone. And you’ve not joined him, not yet. So there’s still hope for you. You can still be – “ he didn’t want to say it, but Malfoy did it for him.

“Saved. I can still be saved. That’s what you were going to say, right? Just so we’re on the same page here.” Harry didn’t answer, but the blush in his cheeks was as good as an admission. Malfoy sighed and stepped closer to him, looking at him earnestly. “I do not want you to save me,” he said slowly and deliberately.

“Fine, then, I won’t save you. I’ll just help you see for yourself that the other option is far better.”

“There is no other option!” Malfoy threw his hands in the air and took another step in his direction. “You are too bloody good for this, Potter, so you can’t understand. You can’t just optimistically hope that there’d be another solution. There is only do or die. That’s the way the Dark Lord works.”

“But if there was another option, would you go for it?” the blond stopped still, and Harry’s heart doubled its speed. “If there was another way?”

“There’s no point thinking like that,” Malfoy said as he lowered his head. “There’s no other way, and there’s not going to be one.” He seemed genuinely sorry. Harry had the craziest impulse all of a sudden to go over there and hug him. He repressed it immediately and pushed his hands in his pockets, stunned with himself.

“I’m not going to give up on you, Malfoy. Not until you actually do it. Then, you can be as terrible and dark as you want. But until then I’m going to prove to you that there is always a choice.” He left the blond standing in the classroom, head bent, looking like the weight of the world was on his shoulders.

***  
He couldn’t even properly explain to himself why he cared so much, but he did. He practically burned with the will to persuade Malfoy, to change his mind. There was the slight chance he was using this as a crutch so as not to have to go and speak to Dumbledore, or think about his own fight with Voldemort. But it was more than that. Every time he spoke to Malfoy, whenever he seemed to get through to him somehow, he felt elated. It made him feel like he could do anything.

There weren’t too many chances to do it, still. Harry had to be careful to make sure Crabbe and Goyle weren’t around, for starters, or even worse, Snape. Generally speaking, the less people saw them together, the better. Harry found himself staring at the Marauder’s map more and more often, trying to locate these rare opportunities. In the end of October, on a cold Saturday morning, he spotted one.

“Be back later,” he breezed past Ron and Hermione who were playing chess, and ran towards the specific point on the map on the second floor. He found him there, flushed red and sweating, barely carrying two heavy piles of books. “What’s up, Malfoy?”

“Shit,” the blond swore, dropping the books on the floor. He looked around, alarmed. “Not you again, Potter. I really don’t have the time for this.”

“Don’t worry, they’re not here. Your not-so-loyal sidekicks are in your common room, and Snape is in his office. You are safe.”

“Hooray,” Malfoy cheered with no joy. “Wait, how do you know that?”

“Let’s just say that I do.” Harry smiled and looked at the mess around him. “What’s going on here?”

“What, these?” Malfoy kicked several books on the floor. “Oh, nothing. Just a fun little exercise I like to try every now and then. Gotta keep sharp, you know, keep fighting the good fight.”

“Malfoy,” Harry said warily. The Slytherin sighed.

“Fine. It’s Crabbe and Goyle, though I’m sure it’s more Crabbe’s idea. They have this… need, as of late, to show me just how much power they hold over me. They keep sending me on these menial tasks. Right now I’m meant to bring these books to the top floor, but the real torture is for later. They want me to tutor them.” He shuddered and closed his eyes. “Lord, will the nightmare ever end?”

“I thought they were your friends,” Harry said flatly. It was hard to imagine Ron or Hermione, or anyone really, taking advantage of a situation like this.

“Yes… I was under the same false impression.” He gave Harry an impatient look. “So not that I’m that keen on getting back to business, but if that is all, Potter, I really should be on my way.”

“Why aren’t you just using your wand?” Harry asked in surprise when the Slytherin started collecting the books one by one. If it was possible, he became even more red.

“I – I told you, I need the exercise.” He made a point of not looking in Harry’s direction. he was utterly puzzled. Until –

“Wait, Malfoy – have they got your wand?” it was almost too unbelievable to even suggest.

“It was Snape’s idea, actually,” the blond replied coldly. “I can only have it during school hours. He says it’s to make sure I’m focused. I, on the other hand, have a strong feeling he is doing it for the sheer pleasure of humiliating me.”

Harry wanted to say something funny, like, I can relate to that, but he was just incapable. “Malfoy, that’s terrible. I – there must be something you can do about this, someone you can talk to.”

He turned so quickly Harry jumped a little. “If you say Dumbledore, I will run at you with all the force still in me, so help me Merlin.”

“All right, all right,” Harry raised his hands in surrender. “Here, let me help you at least.” He waved his wand over the books and they jumped into a neat pile and hovered obediently in the air. Malfoy rolled his eyes.

“So gallant,” he sneered, and gave him a very cold bow. “Always ready for the rescue. I’m forever in your debt, you complete arsehole.”

Harry laughed and motioned for the books to follow them up the stairs. “So… have you been thinking any more about my proposal?”

Malfoy looked perplexed. “What proposal?”

“To rethink things. To try and check for different options.”

“I told you before, Potter. There are no other options.” His voice was very soft. “Look, I’m sorry, but I’m not going to have the same conversation again and again. Actually, you know what? I’m not sorry at all. I thought I made myself clear. I don’t need your help.”

”Right, shall I just leave these here, then?” Harry smiled at him, and the blond scowled. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m not helping you because I have an ulterior motive or something. I just… want to help you with this. All right?”

“Whatever,” Malfoy shrugged, but he was still a little pink. “I just…” he turned away from Harry, who stopped in the middle of the staircase.

“Just what?”

“It’s nothing.” Malfoy stopped too, and he still wasn’t looking at him.

“Spit it out, Malfoy.”

“I just hate it,” he said, gritting his teeth. “I hate being so helpless around you. And I hate that you have this on me, that you have this power. It’s driving me insane. I was such a fool to ever talk to you.”

Harry was stunned. “Malfoy, you know I will never use this against you. I will never threaten you or hold this information above you in some way. That’s not who I am.”

“I know,” he said, but he sounded only more upset. “I hate that too, how fucking noble you are about all this, how bloody kind. Because I know that if it was the other way around…” he shook his head, furious. “You’re wasting your time, Potter. It’s not going to work. You have no idea what you’re up against.”

“I’m always up for a challenge,” Harry tried to keep his voice light, even though he felt his heart tightening inside him. “You’re different than you were before. You’re not the same guy from last year.”

“There’s not many things a summer of torture and fear won’t change in you,” Malfoy said with a smile, but Harry knew he wasn’t kidding. He swallowed hard. “Oh, lighten up. It was only a few beatings, nothing I’ve not taken before.” He continued walking upwards, and Harry followed. Now he was gaping for sure.

“Do you mean – your father – “

“Gods, Potter, learn to take a bloody joke,” Malfoy rolled his eyes at him. “I know all you goody-goodies are as boring as hell, but my, I didn’t think it was that bad.”

Harry laughed a little, but it was pretty forced. Malfoy gestured him into an open door on the top floor. “You said that Voldemort wasn’t there all the times that Greyback attacked you. Does that mean it happened more than once?”

“Oh look, Potter finally mastered his elementary maths,” Malfoy said with a twinkle in his eye, but Harry could feel something in him shutting down, closing off in a way. “Remind me to hand your certificate at the end of the day.”

“Malfoy,” he said softly, and the smiled disappeared from the pale face.

“There were several times, yes,” he answered in a level tone. “Usually not as bad as the last one, but I’ve sported a broken arm for a while.”

“Why did he do it?” Harry asked, trying hard to conceal how sick he was feeling.

“Who knows? He’s a werewolf. He likes to attack people. That’s how he gets his kicks.” He didn’t seem to want to discuss it any further, so Harry didn’t delve deeper.

“Is he still with – your mother?” it was almost frightening to see the look in those grey eyes. Malfoy cleared his throat.

“I don’t actually know,” he said in a small voice. “They don’t let me write to her. and I’ve not received any mail from her, either.”

“Surely you can speak to Snape,” Harry said, shocked. “He might be a dick with your wand and all, but he always seemed to like your family. I’m sure he’d let you send a letter to your bloody mum if you asked him for it.”

“You don’t understand,” Malfoy said and sat down on an empty desk. “I’m not meant to make contact until I’ve achieved my goal. It’s not something I can just ask nicely for. I have to do it first.”

“That’s just evil. Why would you ever want to choose the side that does these kinds of things?” Harry stood right in front of him, looking at him evenly. The Slytherin seemed winded, like he was deflated somehow. Harry had to struggle again with that insane notion to wrap his arms around him. Startled, he took a step back.

“I don’t – it’s not a matter of want, Potter. It’s what I was raised to believe, raised to follow. And it’s not like I’ve got so much of a choice here.”

“There is one thing you can do. You can always talk to Dum-“ he stopped when he saw the look he was given. “Never mind.”

“Exactly. Now, if you’re quite done lecturing me, I need to resume with my… duties." He shivered a little again. "if you don’t mind, Potter, you can go and get lost now.”

Harry followed him down the stairs on his way back to Gryffindor tower. He was about to say something to him, something consoling or supportive or funny, when suddenly Malfoy lost absolutely all the color to his face and seemed to have somehow shrunk in size. Bemused, Harry looked around until he saw the reason why. The greasy-haired man walking upwards stopped a few steps beneath them.

“Ah, Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Potter, the unlikely potions duo. How surprising to see you two together on a Saturday morning.”

“We’re not together,” Harry said irately, looking down at the hated figure. “We are just in the same place, at the same time.”

“Right,” he replied dryly, looking up at them. “Still, one must marvel at the chances… Mr. Malfoy, may I have a moment of your time? There’s something I wish to discuss with you regarding your Quidditch team.”

Harry could actually feel the lump Malfoy just swallowed. “Of course, Professor.” He followed him down immediately, sending one imploring look back Harry’s way, asking him in his eyes to remain still. And he did, watching the two of them disappear. He felt so angry, he was physically sick.

How could he treat him like this? Snape was always terrible towards Harry, and he knew that he was nothing but a horrible, horrible person. But towards Malfoy, his all-time favorite, the son of his close personal friend? A boy in his care that was fucking frightened for his own life? And the rage that always bubbled underneath the surface was threatening to take over him, to consume him entirely. He was in half a mind to run after them, screaming and cursing Snape into a slimy, mindless creature. But then reality knocked at his door and he realized how dangerous that could be for Malfoy. If Snape would think Harry knows about whatever Malfoy was requested to do, he will definitely tell his master, and Draco’s mother will… He tried to calm himself down instead, working on taking deep breaths, slowing down his racing heart. It took him a long time, but in the end he was able to take himself slowly down the stairs and back to Gryffindor tower, where Ron and Hermione were waiting with a lot of questions. He tried to answer them calmly before retiring to his dormitory. He was aching to be alone. The terrified look on Malfoy’s face was burning in his gut like an actual flame.

***  
Malfoy wasn’t in any of his classes on Monday, and Harry was literally worried sick. He had a nasty feeling all day until he could go back to his room and check the map, but Malfoy was just in his bedroom, pacing all around. Relieved and infuriated, he dove flat on his bed and rubbed his sore head. He still couldn’t explain to himself sufficiently why he cared so much.

On the first lesson on Tuesday, Transfiguration, Harry finally spotted his blond head. He laughed in a combination of anger and relief, and Ron and Hermione, who were very careful around him since Sunday, seemed to relax as well. By the end of the lesson Harry managed to send Malfoy a note, and received his confirmation. They agreed to meet in the Room of Requirement that night. Harry was giddy and antsy all day, and wasn’t able at all to control his mood. Quite frankly, he was frightened. He had no idea why the thought that something might have happened to the Slytherin bothered him so much. Maybe it was the notion that if it had, it was his fault; maybe it was because he was slowly but surely getting himself invested in the other boy. Whatever it was, Harry knew it was trouble, and the other two weren’t helping him calm down. They seemed even more puzzled than he was with his change of mind about Malfoy. He was tired of trying to explain to Ron that he didn’t necessarily like Malfoy now, it was just that… damn it. It was just that he wanted to save him.

Hermione called it all along, of course. She told him that his need to ‘rescue people’ was one of his greatest weaknesses as early as last year. Back then, it cost him Sirius. Harry was hoping against all hope that this time wouldn’t be as hurtful.

“Is this what this whole thing is about?” Hermione asked that night in the common room, when Harry was foolish enough to share some of his thoughts with them. “Is this about Sirius?”

Harry shrugged. He truly didn’t know anymore. “Or is it about trying to avoid Dumbledore?” Ron added from the side, and now they really had Harry cornered.

“I don’t know,” he said, turning from one worried face to the other. “I really don’t know. In some way yes, it is about Sirius, and how he felt lost and angry and he didn’t have anyone to help him. And it’s also a way to avoid Dumbledore, I guess, even though I hardly need to do that, because he seems to be avoiding me too.” He shrugged again. It was true that he barely saw the headmaster since returning to Hogwarts. “And a part of it is about Snape too, I reckon. And all this… anger I have inside.” He flushed, because he knew they both understood only too well what he means. They were usually the first victims of his angry lashing-out. Ron patted him on the shoulder.

“Look, mate, as long as it… I don’t know, keeps you busy with something, I guess it’s not too bad. Just don’t go and get all attached if he gives you puppy-dog-eyes, okay? He’s still Malfoy, after all. And you can’t trust him.”

Harry laughed gratefully and clapped him back on the thigh. Hermione broke down as well. “I suppose that as long as you’re being careful,” she said slowly, looking at him seriously. “And you’re not doing anything that would risk either you or them… then I suppose it’s fine. But Harry, you are still going to talk to Dumbledore about all this at some point, right?”

“Of course,” he sighed. “Hermione, of course I’ll talk to him in the end, I don’t have any other choice. I just want to… warm him up to the idea, you know. He was panicked half to death when I told him you guys know. I don’t want to upset him so much.”

“You, not wanting to upset Malfoy,” Ron said, a weird look on his face. “I dunno, I just can’t seem to wrap my head around this concept. I feel a bit like Goyle in Arithmancy class.” They both laughed, and Harry looked at his watch. It was nearly time. He bade them good night and left the common room quietly, making his way to the seventh-floor corridor. He walked around the hallway three times, trying to keep his request pretty clear, and walked inside a little scared. There was nothing to be afraid of this time, though; it was pretty much like the room they used for the D.A, but with more sofas and a roaring fireplace. Pleased, Harry took a seat on the one nearest the fire, and waited.

He did bring his homework along, but was far too agitated to study. He had no idea why he was feeling so nervous. It was nothing like the last time they were here alone, with the torturing devices and the scary atmosphere. Now that the room looked normal, it had a… friendly vibe. Harry was startled when he realized he was hoping to have a friendly vibe with fricking Malfoy.

The door opened and the Slytherin came in, a little more confidently this time. He looked around him with clear distaste. “So much red,” he said as he glanced at the sofas and the curtains. “It really hurts the eyes.”

Harry laughed and motioned for him to take a seat. Malfoy made his way to the sofa across from him and sank into it effortlessly. He somehow managed to look elegant and well kept, even though the seat was pretty low and his knees were propped up high.

“So what is it, Potter? Why did you call for me?”

“Are you – well, are you all right? Snape took you back on Saturday and I hadn’t seen you since. I was –“ he didn’t want to continue; he couldn’t flat out tell Malfoy he was worried about him. Right?

“Oh, I see.” Malfoy’s eyes were large and there was a little too much understanding in them for Harry’s liking. “Well, I am all right. He said I need to keep a lower profile, but he didn’t do anything to me, if you were concerned about that.”

“Well that’s a relief,” Harry said, a little distracted by the way his silvery hair reflected the fire. He coughed a few times. “Did you speak to him about, er, sending a letter to your mum?”

“Yes, actually.” Malfoy’s eyes traveled around the room again, and he seemed like he was trying to steel himself. “He said he will think about it. So here’s to hoping.” It was a very sad smile he gave Harry as he crossed his arms. “He actually gave me a note from my father. From Azkaban.”

Harry tried to mask his gasp as a cough, but he was sure the other boy picked up on it. He looked at him intently. “What did it say?”

“Oh, you know, the regular spiel. Be a good boy, make the Dark Lord proud, restore our family honor. You know the drill.” His fingers toyed absently with the hem of his shirt.

“That’s a load of bullshit,” Harry had no intention of mincing his words. “He’s the one who lost it, and now it’s up to you to restore it?”

“That’s how it works, in the general sense,” Malfoy said patiently. “That’s the whole point of a family, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know about that. I always thought a family was about loving each other and taking care of one another. Not endangering and neglecting your family members to their fate.”

“He didn’t exactly neglect me, Potter. He was put in prison. By you, as a matter of fact.”

Harry felt his face burning. “I didn’t put him in prison. Like you said, I hardly even fought him. I just –“ But Malfoy raised his hand, and Harry hastened to shut up. The blond didn’t even seem so mad.

“I’m not blaming you, Potter. The days of me blaming you are pretty much behind me. It’s your damn golden ways that melt this heart of stone.” He was being sarcastic, but Harry could find the nuggets of truth in there. He said he didn’t blame Harry, and Harry believed him. He breathed with a little more ease.

“So I am winning you over, I knew it. You can’t keep your eyes off me. Admit it, you like me.”

“Whoa - down, boy,” Malfoy was actually grinning now. “Let’s learn how to walk before we start running. I’m not even sure I don’t hate you anymore, so I think liking you is still a little ways ahead. And in any case… you couldn’t handle me, Potter. I’m way too much for you.”

“I’d say that’s about right,” he said, and it was so weird to sit there and laugh with bloody Malfoy, he nearly shivered.  
“Why are you being nice to me?” Malfoy asked suddenly, and Harry felt himself tensing again. “I just don’t understand it, Potter. I was never nice to you. Hell, I wasn’t even civil. I don’t deserve your pity or your mercy, nor do I want them. So why are you doing this?”

“I don’t know,” Harry said for maybe the millionth time that month. “Honestly, Malfoy, I don’t know. But I wouldn’t leave out someone in need, it’s not my style. I guess that’s a part of it.”

“So it was just your need to help the poor, helpless victim,” he said, and again he seemed a bit deflated. Harry wanted to argue, but he wasn’t sure he’d be honest if he did. He merely shrugged. “That’s alright. I mean, I figured up as much. You’re too fucking good, Potter, it’s obscene.” He braved a smile towards him, but Harry could see his sadness right through it.

“What can I do, Malfoy. They don’t call me Golden Boy for nothing.” This remark helped rekindle some of the glint in the grey eyes. Harry noticed that in the light of the fire, they looked very silvery. He choked a little and turned his gaze on something else, anything else really. “So, have you, er, been able to eat recently?”

There was a playfulness in Malfoy’s tone when he answered. “Yes, mother hen. Here and there. I’m not going to pass out on you again, if that’s what you mean. And besides, I can’t turn down the holiday food. I practically live and die for pumpkin pie. You know what?” he said suddenly, and Harry had to look at him again, “it actually smells like pumpkin pie in here.” Harry jumped on this change in subject like a lifeline. He looked towards the fire.

“You know, I think you’re right. Maybe the smell from the kitchens is somehow drifting into here, eight stories up.” And he burst out laughing, because it was impossible, but still, this was Hogwarts. Malfoy laughed too.

“I love pumpkin pie. My mother makes the best one in the world. I’d wait for Halloween every year just to eat it.”

“That’s odd, Malfoy. I wouldn’t have pictured your mum as the baking kind. And I definitely wouldn’t have thought of you as a pie-liking-guy. Or as an anything-liking-guy, to be honest. I thought you’d probably sit in your dark room all day, surrounded by serpent prints and statues, and hate everything.”

Malfoy laughed again, and it was a much freer laugh, one that resonated inside Harry and felt warm. “Yes, that’s about right. Spot on with the snake print, too. Everything in Malfoy Manor is Slytherin colored and reptilian.”

“Really?” Harry asked, eyes open wide, but then he saw the smirk and realized the blond was messing with him. He laughed and threw a cushion at him, which Malfoy dodged easily.

“No, my room is more cream colored, I’d say. There is some green in it, sure, but only because it’s the nicest color. And my mother is definitely the pie baking type. Well, I mean, she was that type. I guess.” His tone must have dropped at least three octaves by the end of the sentence. Harry had actually felt the room getting colder.

“Did it all change when your father went to prison?”

“Not quite. A little bit before it. When the Dark Lord returned, the end of fourth year.” Malfoy bit his lip. “I mean, things weren’t ever perfect before, but they were much more… tolerable. Ever since he was back, and Father started to – deal with him… it’s been different.”

Harry didn’t know what to say to that, so he stayed quiet. He was angry with Lucius, same as always, but now it was from a slightly different angle. When choosing to join Voldemort he didn’t only entangle his own life with his; he had to take his family with him. And even though it was Malfoy, who was probably just as evil as anyone he had ever known, it was still incredibly unfair.

“Do you ever wonder – “ he started, but then broke off, unsure if he wants to continue with this line of conversation. Malfoy seemed to have caught on.

“There’s no point in that,” he said in the same soft voice he’d used with Harry before. “Thinking about what if. It can only make you miserable. It’s far better to just look at what you have straight on and try to deal with it.”

Harry nodded, his throat a little tight. He was feeling rather embarrassed. “Listen,” he started, but Malfoy spoke at the same time.

“If that’s all you wanted, Potter, I think I should take my leave. There is still a hefty pile of homework for me to get through tonight.” He seemed almost bashful, like he was nervous that Harry would say no. Harry cocked an eyebrow.

“Why are you asking for my permission? I’m not holding you hostage here. You are free to do whatever you like.”

The blond swallowed hard before answering. “It’s not much like I can say no to you, Potter. Whether you realize it or not, you are currently holding my mother’s life in your hands.” He trained his eyes on the rug. “You’re holding my life in your hands. And you know I don’t have my wand with me, so I couldn’t fight, couldn’t even defend myself if I needed to. So maybe I’m not exactly held hostage, but I’m also not entirely free, am I?”

Now Harry was utterly lost for words. He stared at the boy in front of him, feeling his hopelessness and dread creeping in, icy in his veins. “Malfoy, I thought you said you knew me. You know I wouldn’t go back on my word just because you … said no to me, or something like that. And I won’t attack someone unarmed.”

“I know you wouldn’t want to,” Malfoy answered, and by the look on his face it seemed like it physically hurt him to speak the words, “I know you’re a fucking saint, Potter. But that’s still out there, acknowledge it or not. I don’t have the privilege to ignore it like you so conveniently do.”

“Malfoy, I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I know this is really difficult for you. But I just want to help you, I swear. I’m there for whatever you need. I – I won’t abuse this power, though, I promise. If you need me… I’ll be here.”

The blond head was still bent, and Harry was starting to wonder if Malfoy will ever look him in the eye again. He seemed to be forcing himself to speak now, like it was a real struggle. In the end he succeeded to say "thank you," in a low voice. The words sounded foreign to Harry, as he never expected to hear them uttered in this voice, from those lips. He nodded, even though Malfoy couldn’t have possibly seen it. Then he watched as the boy got up and left the room slowly, as if scared that he might start running otherwise. It was pretty painful, and it took Harry a long time before he felt ready to go back to Gryffindor.  



	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry keeps pushing, there's a row, and Draco's pretty miserable. Mentions of extremely vague torture (no deets).

Harry didn’t try to initiate any more contact after that, since he didn’t want Malfoy to feel like he is being commanded again. The Slytherin kept his distance from Harry, and as November began, icy cold, he started to think that maybe he lost this battle. It was actually Professor Electra that provided them the chance to speak privately once more.

“We are over halfway through the semester, and that poses the perfect opportunity to sit down and reflect. Looking back to analyze combat situations is one of the most productive ways to prepare for the future. Your mistakes, I honestly believe, are your greatest teacher.” She smiled sweetly, and Harry wanted to hex her. He knew where this was going, and he didn’t like it one bit. “I’d like you to sit down in your pairs or threes and talk about our previous training sessions. You would have thirty minutes to draw some conclusions in pairs, another thirty minutes in your core groups, and then we would end in a shared discussion. Please find yourselves a comfortable spot, and I shall see you and hear your thoughts soon.”

What choice did he have, then? He followed the blond into a quiet corner out in the corridor, a bit further away from the others than he wanted maybe, and sat down on a chair he summoned. Malfoy followed his lead and sat in front of him. The silence was tense in his ears.

“So, er, I guess we need to talk about our performance so far?” he said, because he felt like he had to say something. Malfoy scoffed lightly.

“All right, I’ll start. We were abysmal. Or rather, I was. You were… passable, I suppose.”

Harry shook his head. “Come on, you weren’t abysmal. Distracted, and a huge prat, but not abysmal. I’m sure you could get the hang of it if you only tried enough.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Like that’s going to do me any good.”

Harry scratched his neck, slightly uncomfortable. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Getting a good grade in Defence Against the Dark Arts class won’t exactly help my case. Did you notice the Against part of it? I highly doubt the Dark Lord will appreciate my efforts here.” He wasn’t looking directly at him, but rather observed his fingernails in a distant manner. Harry had to fight the urge to kick him.

“Don’t be an idiot, Malfoy. Voldemort doesn’t care about how you do at school. He doesn’t care about anything other than hurting and killing and dominating everything.”

“You’re not too far off base there, I suppose,” Malfoy shrugged.

“Well then, why do it? Why go to him, why serve him? If you know yourself he is nothing but a dangerous, evil psychopath?”

Now Malfoy did look at him, and his smirk was the opposite of humorous. “I seem to recall you called me that, too. An evil psychopath. Is that a sort of go-to expression of yours?”

Harry had the grace to blush a little. “I didn’t mean it. Not really. You’re… you’re not my favorite person by far, but you’re nothing like him. You’re nothing like Voldemort.”

Malfoy closed his eyes when he heard the name, and Harry could tell he was fighting with himself not to say what he wanted. “You don’t know me, Potter,” was what he did say in the end, and Harry bit his lip. It was true, he didn’t know him, not really. But he was starting to… or at least, it felt like he was. “You have no idea what I am willing or able to do. What I must do.” He opened his eyes, and the terror in them was so clear, it rattled Harry to his core. “I cannot fight him like you did, I can't even stand to look at him. To think about him. His power is…” he shook his head, unable to express his horror in words. “You’ve not seen what he can do, not really. You don’t know anything.”

Harry sighed. “You’re right. I don’t really know much about him, I never stayed around for too long to find out. But listen to yourself! The only reason you’re going along with this whole insanity is because you’re scared.”

“You should be scared, too.” He didn’t say it as a threat, or to be smart; Harry could see he actually meant it. “He's coming for you, Potter. Nothing else occupies him at the moment. You think you are safe, but you are not. You cannot be.”

Harry shrugged, because although he knew it was true, there wasn't much he could do about it. “He’s been trying to murder me ever since I was a year old. Nothing’s really changed. There’s nothing I can do but try to fight him.” The blond didn’t reply, and Harry sunk into his own thoughts. Then a question occurred to him. “How do you know that, though?”

“Know what? That he wants to kill you?” The Slytherin looked away, and Harry wondered if he’s avoiding his gaze. “That’s really not so hard to tell, Potter.”

“Well yeah, not that. How do you know that killing me is all he's about now? Did he talk to you about it or something?”

“He’s not really _talked_ to me about it; he doesn’t _talk_ too much.” The disgust in his voice was cold and hard. “He did want to… question me some. About you.”

“Question you?” Harry’s voice was barely even a whisper as he drew in a startled gasp. “What do you mean?”

Now Malfoy was definitely not looking at him. “The Dark Lord seemed to believe that since we attend school together, I would have valuable information about you. He regretted to find out what I know he mostly already discovered. I… did not prove much worth to him in that department.” He swallowed hard. Harry felt his own heart sinking heavily within him.

“What kind of information?”

“Oh relax, Potter,” Malfoy spat, his eyes finally finding their way back to Harry. “I didn’t tell him anything he didn’t already know. Who your friends are, what teachers drool over you, that kind of thing. Nothing that satisfied him to hear.”

Harry thought fast. It’s not like Malfoy knows anything he would want to hide, anyway. He didn’t know about his connection to the Order, and whatever he could have told him about Ron and Hermione, he would have already been able to learn from Lucius and Wormtail. Heart rate slowly calming, he took to thinking in a different direction. “How did he ask?”

“What?” Malfoy didn’t seem to follow.

“How did he ask you all these things?” It was hard to say what he meant in a delicate way. “I can’t really picture Voldemort sitting down for tea and pleasantly discussing these issues with you.”

“No, that’s not really how he operates.” There was darkness in the grey eyes, darkness and cold and a sort of hollowness that unsettled Harry. “He did it in his usual manner, Potter. By torture.”

He couldn’t fight the horrified gasp. “He tortured you to find out information about me?”

Malfoy let out a cold laugh. “He didn’t believe me when I said I’d offer the information freely, I’m afraid. He only tortured me enough to break down my guard so he could read my mind without disturbance. And then just a little further, perhaps for the fun of it.”

“But why did you even have your guard up in the first place? What were you scared he’d find out?” Harry hardly even recognized this tiny voice that came out of his mouth.

“Things that are of absolutely no concern to you, Potter. Suffice to say I had my reasons, but none of that mattered. I couldn’t withstand his spells for long; he’s read through me with much ease. Greyback was furious to have his prize toy taken, but he had to endure it quietly. The Dark Lord suffers no comments to his work.”

Harry opened his mouth to say something, but then he shut it quickly. He could think of nothing, nothing at all. The horror in the words said so casually was too much to tolerate. He was afraid if he’d open his mouth again, he would be sick. “Malfoy, I’m… that’s awful,” was all he managed in the end, after about a minute of stunned silence.

“Terribly eloquent, Potter. It doesn’t matter; all that happened in the past. It is my future I need to worry about.” He tried to wear his normal smirk, but was unable to, so he settled on a nonchalant expression. Harry shivered.

“No, I – I really don’t know what to say. It's just horrible. To think that this is how he treats people who are already on his side, it’s… unbelievable.” He took a deep breath, trying to steel himself for his next words. “You really don’t have to do it. You don’t need to let your fear run your life. There are other ways, there are places you can hide where he won’t be able to touch you. I will help you, Malfoy. I will help you and I will do whatever I can to help your mum, too. I know this is so hard, and I can’t imagine what you must be feeling, but… you have to know there’s a different way. you don’t have to suffer through that alone. You don’t have to suffer like that ever again, at all.”

“You will help me? You? How very condescendingly Gryffindor of you. How could you possibly help me?” The cold tone only dropped to a further lower, icy temperature.

Harry shrugged. “I’ll do whatever I can.”

Malfoy’s eyed were so large, they seemed to swallow his entire face. He shook his head with disbelief. “I just admitted giving your worst enemy information about you, Potter. I admitted to be working for him. What on earth are you doing, trying to help me?”

“I told you before, I don’t see it that way.” He became awfully flushed all of a sudden. “I know you didn’t choose it, and I know it wasn’t all your fault. And you haven’t done it yet, whatever it is, so there is still a chance. If you switch sides then maybe all the pain he’s caused, all the suffering – maybe you could make it worth something.”

“Switch sides?” the grey eyes became impossibly wider. “To your side?”

Harry shrugged once more. “Would that really be so terrible?”

“Do you even want me on your side?” Malfoy whispered, and it was so much like what he himself had thought before, he had to suppress a grin.

“I guess, yeah. I’d rather you were on my side than his, that’s for sure. Would it be so bad?”

“It’s not – it wouldn’t be – it’s not a matter of bad, Potter, it’s simply impossible!” He threw two hands in the air exasperatedly. “You have no idea what you’re even trying to offer! And how would you do it? How could you possibly protect me and my mother?”

“Dumbledore,” Harry said immediately, hope igniting deep inside him. “He will be able to do it all. He can find a place for the two of you, he can get you the hell away from him. And I will help in any way I can.”

“Dumbledore will never take me,” Malfoy shook his head, eyes returning to their normal size. “He will never – no, you're wrong. You keep doing this, Potter.” He rubbed his eyes furiously, head bent. “Thinking there’s a bloody choice. That there are options and opportunities and free will. You are nothing but a delusional child.” Without giving Harry any time to respond, he shot to his feet. “I can’t be thinking only about myself anymore, Potter. Not when her life is on the line. Not when I’m the only one who can – you must stop trying to deter me from the one bloody thing I can do to save her.” He shook more and more violently as he went on. “You are the one who’s incurably into saving people, aren’t you? Then you must know where I’m coming from.” And he stalked away without even taking a breath, leaving Harry with his mind reeling. And once again he had to come up with a reasonable excuse to give Professor Electra for Malfoy’s absence.

***

  
Harry desperately wanted to speak to him more about it – it seemed like he was getting so close, close to changing his mind, to finally making him see. Malfoy ignored him completely in the halls and in their classes, though Harry thought he could feel his eyes on him occasionally, when he was looking away. Ron and Hermione were both at a loss; on the one hand not wanting to dissuade him from what he became so passionate about, on the other hand unable to refrain from providing constant warnings. The fact of the matter was, they did not trust Malfoy, and neither did he really. He just knew deep down that those grey eyes were looking for a way out, pleading to be given an option. And he found himself eager to offer him that chance. He only needed to prove to him it was a possibility.

It all became quite difficult when they got forced into yet another conference of sorts. This time it was Snape who was to blame, so obviously it went immeasurably worse. Since Harry rather foolishly volunteered to be Malfoy’s partner in the beginning of the year, he found himself needing to work with him whenever there was a task that required pairing up. He nearly got used to working in complete silence without ever looking at his partner. But then, alas, came a project which required four heads together.

Malfoy tried to protest, but there really wasn’t much he could do; all the other teams of two had already partnered up, and Snape was giving him a petulant look. Extremely reluctant, and sighing non-stop, he turned around and sat himself down next to Harry.

They were to work on a Polyjuice potion. Since Harry had seen Hermione make one their second year, he wasn’t exactly concerned with the task; surely she would be able to repeat her success. Therefore he took the new arrangements in Potions class to resume his attack on the blond, and since the environment rendered him pretty much helpless, Malfoy had to listen. Ron and Hermione knew everything anyway, so Harry spoke freely.

“You just need to make the right choice,” he said in a whisper when Snape was far enough. Malfoy’s eyes shot so wide, Harry felt a jolt of fear in his gut.

“Potter, please. Don’t do this. Not here.”

“You’ve got no reason to look so worried, Malfoy. I told you, Ron and Hermione are not going to tell anyone.” Harry gave the others a pleading look.

“Yeah, we’re not going to say anything about how you’re a bloody evil git who serves You-Know-Who,” Ron offered in an annoyed tone, and Harry frowned at him. “Our lips are sealed.”

“I don’t – I never wanted to – good gods, Potter, you're going to get me killed.” Malfoy looked sincerely upset, his voice nothing but a little whimper, sinking in his stool. Harry almost didn’t have the heart to continue. He took a deep breath.

“No one is going to kill you.” Harry shook his head, feeling more than a little sorry at how miserable the blond seemed.

“Unless you actually do that stupid thing he wants you to do,” Ron said lightly, quirking an eyebrow up. “Then there’s no guarantees who’s going to try and kill you.”

That remark seemed to bring Malfoy’s fighting spirit back somewhat. “Right, because you people are so frightening.” He actually scoffed. Harry could feel Ron tensing on the other side of the table.

“You got that right, ferret. That slimy father of yours can’t help you from Azkaban, can he? And even your loyal companions abandoned you. You’re all alone but for us now, so you better play nice.”

“Please,” Malfoy rolled his eyes, smirking. “If this is the company I am to have, I’d rather be alone.”

“Alone, or with You-Know-Who?” Ron asked darkly, and Harry kicked him under the table. Hermione shook her head in contempt. “We know you’re just his little bitch, Malfoy. Good thing he’d have your back too, since you’re so apparently weak.” There was a glint in his eyes that had Harry more than a little concerned.

“I’m weak?” Malfoy tilted his head, amused. “Have you looked in a mirror recently, Weasley? Or can you not afford to have one, as your wardrobe suggests?”

“Oh, Harry, please help me!” Ron mimicked a whiny, high-pitched voice. “They’ve got my mummy and I’m so scared! Big bad You-Know-Who tortured me and it hurts so bad!” Harry tried to shush him, but he was too far gone. “Greyback threatened to eat me and now I’m fainting in the hallways like a little princess!” the longer he spoke, the less amused Malfoy seemed. His eyes were becoming ever wilder.

“Shut up, Weasley,” He practically spat the words. “You're one to talk. I’ve seen the way you aim in Defence class - you’d be the first to go when He returns in full.”

“Touchy, are we?” Ron asked with a bit of a grin, and Harry could only shake his head in dismay. “Does that mean you are scared after all?”

“Stop it, Ron,” Hermione said quietly, measuring amounts of dried leaves into the cauldron. “There’s no point making empty threats. Neither of you are going to do anything.”

“I don’t know, Hermione. Malfoy here seems to think he’s a big man. We should all be worried when he’s around.”

“You should be worried!” for a second Malfoy forgot himself, his tone rising in anger. He quickly returned to his senses, though, shutting his mouth with considerable force. His cheeks were getting rather heated.

“Oh, we should, should we?” Ron’s smirk turned into a scowl. “Why’s that, Malfoy? What are you planning to do?”

“He’s not planning to do anything,” Harry warned in a low voice.

“No, of course not. He’s nothing but a little coward. There’s nothing he could do anyway.”

“Shut up,” the Slytherin found his tongue, his expression getting darker by the second. “Or I will shut your horrid little mouth for you.”

“I don’t think so,” Ron’s expression was becoming malicious. Harry kicked his foot under the table again, but it did no more good than the first time. “I don’t think I’m going to shut up. And I don’t think you should go around giving orders anymore.”

“Ron, that’s enough,” Hermione said quietly, but he ignored her.

“For so many years you’ve been nothing but a total prat,” he said coolly, and Malfoy’s eyes narrowed as his hands clasped together on his knees. “Always bragging and threatening and bullying. And suddenly what? All’s changed because you’ve had a couple of shitty months? I don’t think so, Malfoy. I don’t believe for a second you’ve changed. I don’t know what you’re playing at, but I bet it’s evil to the bone.”

Malfoy just glared at him for a second. “You're right,” he said in the end, and everyone around the little table gasped. “I am evil to the core, Weasley, just like you say. So what’s holding you back? You could strike me right here, right now.” His lips were a perfect straight line. Harry struggled to breathe normally.

“No one is going to strike anyone,” Hermione said, dropping all pretenses of being absorbed in the potion making. “Malfoy, Ron, you both need to calm down.”

“Stay out of this, Granger,” Malfoy hissed, not sparing her a look. “This is no matter for a Mudblood.”

Ron’s face was almost as red as his hair. He sent his long arms forward, grabbing handfuls of Malfoy’s robes. “Say that again,” he whispered softly. Harry anxiously looked around to check; Snape had his back to them, leaning low over another group’s cauldron. “Say that one more time to my face, and I will break you.”

“You will?” Malfoy’s lips pursed and his eyed glinted malevolently. “How exactly do you propose to do that, Weasley? Do you conceive yourself more powerful than the Dark Lord?”

“Ron, please,” Hermione sounded as desperate as Harry felt, but there was no stopping the redhead anymore.

“I don’t need a wand to break you,” his smile looked nothing like his usual one, and sent a cold shiver down Harry’s spine. “I don’t even need to touch you. I can just say a few words to our good friend here, and he will take care of that for me.” He tipped his head towards Snape, and Malfoy’s face lost all the color in it, drained into a weak grey. His mouth opened and closed a few times like a fish out of water. Satisfied, Ron released his hold, settling back in his seat. Hermione seemed stricken, but Harry could only stare at the blond lowering his head, trembling from head to foot. If it weren’t for the movement, he wouldn’t have even looked alive.

“Malfoy, he didn’t mean it. He’s not going to say anything. Right, Ron?” Harry nudged him impatiently. “Right?”

“No, ‘course not,” Ron muttered, slightly gaping at the wreck in front of him. Malfoy still shook violently, his eyes fixed on the floor, breathing harshly. “Of course, I was kidding. I’m – I’m not going to say anything.” He seemed a little embarrassed now, the flush in his cheeks looking more normal, less haunted. Malfoy didn’t look up.

“Malfoy, he wasn’t serious. None of us are going to say anything. Come on.”

Finally, with considerable effort, Malfoy raised his head. His nostrils flared a little as he faced them, hands still shaking on his knees. He seemed to be drawing energy from deep within himself, and unsure if it will suffice. “I…” he looked lost. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, steeling himself. He bit his lip hard. “I’m sorry.”

“Pardon?” Harry’s shocked ears didn’t quite believe what they’ve heard.

“I’m sorry,” Malfoy said again, opening his eyes and giving them all a scathing look. Each word seemed to cost him dearly. “I shouldn’t have called you a Mudblood, Granger. It was wrong of me. I’m sorry.”

Stunned, Hermione stared at him. “It’s... okay, Malfoy.” Ron gave her a little look, but she shrugged, a little lost herself. Hearing an apology from Malfoy was odd enough, but hearing it like that - in a voice so defeated - was something else entirely. He was still extremely pale and very quiet, and didn’t say another word the entire lesson. The four worked in silence, Harry and his friends giving each other small astonished looks every once in a while, Malfoy keeping his eyes solemnly on the table. His hands were shaking so terribly, Hermione snagged the ingredients he was meant to be chopping and did them herself. When class was over he nearly dashed outside, and Harry had to run to catch up with him. He followed him into an empty classroom, throwing the door shut behind them. As soon as they were alone, Malfoy turned to him with a dark look.

“What do you want from me, Potter?” he asked, a combination of weariness and danger in his voice. “What the hell do you want? I said I was sorry. Was that not enough?”

“No, it's not that. I just – Ron didn’t mean what he said, he was only joking – “

“Right,” Malfoy hissed, and Harry nearly jumped a step back at his tone. “He was only joking about getting me and my mother murdered. Because it's such a funny matter. You Gryffindors are well known for your sense of humor, but I never thought you’d reach that level of hilarity.” His voice was cold, but his eyes were ablaze. Harry couldn’t meet his gaze.

“I’m sorry, okay? He shouldn’t have said that. Neither should you have, really, but - but still. He shouldn’t have.”

“Of course it's perfectly on par, name-calling and threatening murder, but never mind. I wouldn't ask you to understand. Obviously I made a mistake worthy of that punishment, but it seems like that wasn't enough. Which brings us back to our original question,” Malfoy fired, collapsing on a desk. He was shaking slightly with fury. “What on earth is it that you want from me? Would you make me go down on my knees and beg until you’re satisfied? Or is humiliating me in front of your friends ever going to be enough?”

“Malfoy, I never – I didn’t mean for that to happen – “

“No, of course not. Harry Potter and his bloody saintly comrades would never hurt a fly, would they? Defenders of the poor, protectors of the broken, forever true and brave - but I must be more lowly than a fly, so pray tell, what do you want from me? I’ve already handed myself to you on a silver platter. How much further will you torture me with this? How many more indignities will I have to endure?”

Harry was absolutely lost. “Malfoy, will you calm down? No one is trying to hurt you, no one is trying to – humiliate you – you’ve got this all wrong. We just want to help you. We want you to come to our side.”

“Come to your side?” Malfoy was nearly shouting. “How convenient must it be, Potter, to have me under your thumb like this. You know I can’t do a damn thing so you let yourself run freely with your imagination. How amusing for you, to be able to make me do as you wish.”

“What? I’m not making you do anything, Malfoy! What have I ever made you do? This is nothing like that. I never meant to force you into anything. I just thought – I wanted you to have the option –“

“Right, to have the option. Always with your little plots of rescue and choice. But you will never really trust me, will you? You will never treat me as anything but a poor soul who needs saving! I will not be your victim! I will not lay on the railroad for you to fly me away! I simply refuse to grovel at your feet any longer!”

“What are you talking about?” Harry needed to yell to get his attention. “I never asked you to do any of these things! I never asked you to grovel!”

“No, but you keep me ever so tensely on the edge of my seat, wondering when you’re going to turn me in, don’t you? You keep using this invisible threat to leave me powerless against you, totally at your mercy!” Malfoy leapt to his feet, and the look on his face was so ferocious, Harry actually took a step back. “I am sick and tired of this, Potter! I can't take it anymore. Just go ahead and report me already; I will not continue this way. I would sooner be in Azkaban, I would rather be fucking dead, than be your victim any longer.” He seemed breathless, crumbling back onto the desk, holding his chest. Harry seized his opportunity.

“Malfoy, please, calm down. You’re not making any sense. I never even remotely suggested any of that, and I don’t think of you as my victim or anything like that. I saw you were in pain, and I wanted to help you, but that’s where it ends. If you don’t want my help, that’s fine. I’ll just step away and never mention it again. You can rest assured that Ron and Hermione will do the same. Please, just don’t… don’t worry about it, okay?” he couldn’t say anything else, not to that broken expression on the pale face. As much as it would be difficult, and as sorry as he would probably be to let this go, he knew he must. If that’s what Malfoy was feeling, like he was taking advantage of his situation in some grotesque way, he had to stop. He looked at the panting boy for a second, then cleared his throat. “I’m just going to… go now, all right?” he turned to leave when he heard his name.

“Potter, wait.” He turned on his heels so quickly, he was a little dizzy. Malfoy’s head was bent low, and he was still gasping for air. “I… I’m sorry about what I said. It wasn’t fair.” He continued to speak in that tight, painful tone he used for his apology in the Potions lab.

“No, Malfoy, it’s okay. I realize I wasn’t being exactly fair, making you to talk to me when you really didn’t want to. I’ve been pretty horrible actually. And I really shouldn’t have said anything to Ron and Hermione. But honestly, I give you my word, no one is going to hear about it from us. No one.”

Malfoy’s gaze fluttered about the room aimlessly, then found his. He sucked in his lips, and struggle was written all over his face. Then he broke off with a sigh. “No, I’m the one who should apologize. I should never have used that kind of language, it was... it was my fault entirely. And - I know you don’t take pleasure in this situation. What's happening to me is really not your fault.”

“I just…” Harry didn’t quite know what to say. “I know it can be different for you, Malfoy. I know you could be so much more than whatever it is he wants you to be. I know you can have a better life, a good life even. With no pain and monstrous werewolves and bloody torture.” His smile was very wan.

“I don’t understand you,” Malfoy said, and he sounded sincere now. “And I don’t think I can see what you see. But… I appreciate it still. And – it means something to me, however I may detest it.”

Harry’s smile grew a little warmer. “I’m really sorry for putting you in this situation, Malfoy. I can only imagine how much it sucks.”

“Gods, Potter, stop apologizing,” the Slytherin scratched his head with discomfort. “It’s becoming a nasty habit of yours.”

Harry stared at him for a moment, deliberating with himself. “Look, I’m only going to say this once, and then I’d give it up and let you make up your own damn mind. You can join us. I can’t promise you that going along with us will be much better, but I can promise you one thing. I do not only think of you as a victim. Never have, never will. You’re way too much of a twat to be just that.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes, but he looked far less miserable than before. “Quite the master of words, Mr. Potter,” he said, a small smirk stealing on his face. “I will… think about it.” That was all he could hope for, really.

Harry nodded and took a few steps back towards the door. “Let me know,” he said, turning around to leave. His hand was already on the handle when he heard his name again.

“Potter… thank you.” He nodded and left without looking back.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A scary meeting in a dark forest is never a particularly good idea, is it?

Harry thought he might never hear from Malfoy again, and he prepared himself for that eventuality. After what's happened the last time, he was not going to try and reach out to him, no matter the bleak feeling he was left with. Ron was very apologetic about what he said, and Harry forgave him easily; he knew how riled up he was, and knew for certain Ron did not mean to put anyone in real danger. Still, whenever he saw the lithe figure around him, he couldn’t help but feel a little like he’d lost. He kept his distance though, trying to respect Malfoy's wishes. If he waned to, he knows where to find him. Harry pretty much abandoned all hope, but then a little more than a week later, on his way to charms class, he felt a hand grab his cloak and pull him into an empty classroom. Malfoy hurriedly closed the door behind them and looked at him, out of breath.

“I got a letter from her,” he said, holding out a folded piece of parchment. “They let her write to me.” His excitement sounded as frozen as the weather outside. Harry didn’t need to ask who he meant.

“How – how is she?” he asked carefully. The dread in his belly was alive and kicking.

“She’s fine,” Malfoy said, and Harry let out a breath of relief. “Greyback isn’t in the Manor anymore, but her sister comes to check up on her every once in a while.” Harry wasn’t sure if the other boy noticed that he nearly seized up when he mentioned Bellatrix. “She's going to come here on Saturday, to – to see how I am,” he finished lamely. “At least she’s still alive,” he whispered, and now Harry could tell he was trembling.

There it was again, that almost overwhelming craze to wrap the blond in a tight hug. If he weren’t careful, Harry might find himself leaping forwards, arms held wide open. He blinked the mental image out of his mind. “I’m glad to hear that, Malfoy. Truly, I’m glad.”

“You are? Even though you know what this means?” he asked in a tiny voice, so small Harry wasn’t sure he didn’t imagine it.

“What does it mean?”

“About my task. About what I need to do. If she’s alive, then… I must see to it that she remains that way.” His tone was much colder now, much more mechanic. “I have no choice, Potter. I must protect her, same as she always protected me. I can’t just – leave her to them.” There was actual fear in his eyes as he looked into Harry’s.

“Of course not, Malfoy. But like I told you before, there isn’t only one way to do it. You don’t have to do this alone.”

He took a deep breath and turned his back to Harry. “Will you come with me?”

“What?” Harry almost fell off the desk on which he was leaning with surprise.

“Will you come with me to see her? I – I don’t know if I can do it on my own. I don’t know if I’d be… strong enough.” Harry could actually feel the struggle in him as he said those words, could feel how difficult it was for him to admit that.

“Of course,” he said without giving it a spare thought. He couldn’t bear to see him so torn and miserable. “Of course I’d come with you.”

“It will be late,” Malfoy warned, now able to look at him again. “She said she’ll come to the forest at midnight. And she won’t be alone, Potter.” He took a deep breath. “Greyback will come with her.” He was emanating such a strong sense of fear, Harry could nearly see it radiating off him.

“That’s all right. I have ways to keep out of sight. I can come in disguise.”

“What kind of disguise?” Malfoy raised an eyebrow. It was a quick moment of decision making before he concluded he could share the information.

“I have an invisibility cloak. It was my father’s. I can wear it and walk with you to the forest undetected.”

“You do? But – oh, I knew it!” Malfoy said, for a moment too happy in the revelation to remember their very serious chat. “I always knew you must have something like that. It all make sense now… But anyway,” he cleared his throat and his expression became grave once more, “that’s not going to be enough, not with Greyback. You're going to have to cover your scent. I can make a potion for you, if you’d like. Together with the cloak, it just might work.”

Harry nodded, and he saw the other boy relax, his shoulders popping back up. It was like he released a heavy load off his back, and Harry couldn’t help but feel a little happy for him. He had no idea what meeting his mother will do to Malfoy, but he was glad he will at least be there. He knew how much Malfoy was scared for his mum, how much he was willing to do for her. Hell, he was even being nice to Harry for her sake!

“Thank you, Potter,” Malfoy said, again in that strangled voice. “I – really appreciate it. I know I don’t deserve it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’d never turn down an opportunity for adventure.” Harry smiled lightly, but he knew the Slytherin could see right through him. He returned a weak smile and for a moment it seemed like he was deliberating whether or not to put his hand on Harry’s shoulder. Startled and bewildered, Harry pulled back and hurried to the door. “Keep me posted, yeah? I’ll see you in a bit.” He nearly ran out the room, now consumed with thoughts of how to explain to Ron and Hermione what he’s going to be doing on the weekend.

***  
They met at the Room of Requirement Saturday night at half past eleven. Malfoy was already there when Harry came in, and he could see just how stressed he was. He was paler than ever, and the bags under his eyes looked even worse at this late hour. “Did you get here all right?” Harry asked, and the Slytherin merely nodded.

“Here’s your potion,” he said to Harry as he drew nearer, giving him a little beaker. “it’s meant to cover your scent, so don’t be alarmed if animals react differently to you in the next twenty-four hours.” Harry nodded and proceeded to drinking the light-blue liquid. It tasted a bit like sour candy. Not too bad, he thought to himself, pocketing the empty beaker. He looked at Malfoy.

“Are you feeling okay?” he asked tentatively. The blond shrugged.

“I don’t know. I’m so out of my mind with worry, it’s hard to feel anything. It’s just so surreal, thinking that she will be there tonight. And with him.” He swallowed nervously. “I guess I should be grateful it’s only him and not the Dark Lord that is coming to check up on me.” He lowered his glance to the fire, musing for a second, then back up to Harry. “Are you all ready? Let’s go. Snape’s been meant to leave the front door open for us, and we shouldn’t meet anyone on our way.” nevertheless, Harry covered the them both in the cloak as they made their way downstairs quietly. It was really quite alarming, how natural it felt to be walking alone at night with Malfoy. Sure, he’s spent many nights under this cloak with Ron and Hermione, so walking in the deserted corridors wouldn’t have bothered him anyway. But to do it with Malfoy of all people… it was just peculiar. They walked quickly, and soon they got to the main door, which indeed was unlocked. Bracing himself, Harry pushed it slowly, and then they were out.

As soon as they descended the great stone steps Malfoy got out from under the cloak. “They’d be expecting to see me,” he whispered towards Harry’s general direction, and then resumed walking towards the forest resolutely. Harry followed him, trying to make as little noise as possible, heart zooming in his chest. He had no clue what will be waiting for them in the forest. Ron and Hermione’s words were still ringing in his ears: what if this is a trap? But he carried on, not saying a word to the almost-ghostly looking boy besides him. In the moonlight, Malfoy’s hair was nearly white, his eyes molten silver. Harry thought that if he stopped to properly look at him, he might not be able to look away. So instead he looked at the ground and pushed that weird thought to the back of his head.

It felt like they were walking forever, but they still got there too fast for Harry’s taste. At some point, when they just made it past the cover of the trees, Malfoy sent out an arm to stop him. He looked around, more nervous than Harry had ever seen him before. But then he could hear it, too: footsteps on the forest floor. And then, shining in the moonlight, a figure emerged.

She looked so much like Malfoy, it was startling. Harry could feel the emotion building up in the boy next to him almost like it was in his own chest. He could see on his face that he yearned to just run to her and hold her tight in his arms, but he was stopping himself with what seemed like great force. It hurt a little to see all this raw emotion on the normally blank face, so instead Harry turned to Narcissa. He remembered thinking she was rather beautiful two years ago, and she was even more so now, with her eyes full of tears and love etched on every line of her face. She mastered herself as well, standing tall and keeping her distance. “Draco, my love,” she said finally, and sent her hand forward.

The boy made a move as if to grab it, but then froze on the spot. Harry heard it clearly this time: more footsteps, leisurely and loud. A man came out from between the trees, and Harry had to hold in a gasp. He was huge, tall and muscular, and his face was torn and scarred like an old pirate, his long hair tied in a loose ponytail. A big chunk of his nose was missing, and it made Harry feel weird, as it reminded him of Mad Eye. But he didn’t look as clever as Moody, or as alert. Instead he looked carefree, so sure of his strength and power, so evidently enjoying the state of fear he was inducing in the two people beside him. His large eyes were nearly flame-red and burning even in the soft light.

“Draco, our boy. How wonderful to see you again. We missed having you around, didn’t we, Narcissa?” he took a step towards Malfoy, who shook visibly. The silvery moonlight made him look more like a painting than a real person. Greyback didn’t miss it. “Looking especially lovely tonight, little Draco. I always say kids look tastiest under the moon… oops, did I say tasty? I meant beautiful.” And with one long step he closed the distance between them, and wrapped his arms around Malfoy. Harry could just make the stony, frightened face from above Greyback’s shoulder.

“Come on, Fenrir, let me see him. Let me see my son.” Narcissa sounded tired, as if she was used to have to beg to get her way with him. He obliged, leaving Malfoy where he was standing, and circling so he was now standing behind him. Greyback wrapped one muscular arm around the boy's waist, locking him in.

“What do you say, Draco,” he whispered into his ear, leaning his face on Malfoy’s shoulder from behind so he was looking at Narcissa. “It’s good to be like this, all together again, isn’t it?”

Malfoy stayed very still, but it was an obvious effort. He looked only at his mum, as if the werewolf didn’t exist. “Are you all right, Mother?” he asked in a low voice, his eyes searching. “Are you – “ but he had to stop, since Greyback’s other arm made its way around his torso, hand landing on his neck. Harry found that he is hardly able to look in their direction. If the werewolf will attack, he realized with panic, Harry would not be able to do anything fast enough. And Malfoy didn’t have his wand, of course. So there was nothing they could do, nothing at all. Malfoy swallowed with some difficulty, then looked back at Narcissa. “Mother, are you okay?” his voice was very weak.

“Yes, Draco,” she answered quickly, as if suddenly becoming aware of her surroundings. “I am fine, dear. I miss you a lot, and the house is so empty now, but I am perfectly fine. Really. You have no reason to worry.”

“If the house is too empty, Cissy, I could always come and keep you company,” the werewolf said, pressing playfully against Malfoy’s windpipe. The blond wheezed in a strangled manner, changing colors quite rapidly. “You know me, always happy to help.”

“Thank you, Fenrir. Now if you’d be so kind as to allow my son to breathe once more, I’d be grateful.” Her voice turned icy cold when she spoke to him. He raised his eyebrows a little, but his hold on the boy’s neck loosened and Malfoy took a big gulping breath.

“Did you hear that, Draco? Grateful. You know, you should be grateful, too. You should be grateful the Dark Lord hasn’t killed you yet, even though you didn’t complete your task. And you should be grateful he hasn’t killed your mummy here, either.”

“Please,” Malfoy said, desperate. “Please, I'm doing the best I can. I just need more time.”

“Unfortunately, it is not I who decide these things.” Greyback shrugged and let go of Malfoy. Although he was now out of his clutches, the level of fear on his face only increased.

“Greyback, please,” he begged, not daring to turn around and face him. But he didn’t have to, as the werewolf was circling him again, walking towards Narcissa. Then he pounced, and the movement was so quick, it caught Harry totally unprepared; one second he was just walking all laid-back, the next he had Narcissa down, nails digging into her neck, fangs hovering above her shoulder. Harry was so stunned, he could only stand there and watch. Malfoy didn’t ask him to do anything, though; Harry was sure he completely forgot he was there in the first place. Instead he fell to his knees on the dead grass, hands sending forwards, eyes so wide they were almost popping out of his face. “I'll do it, I promise I will, I just need more time! Please, you have to tell him… I am grateful, I am very grateful… our Lord is so merciful. You must tell him.” He bowed his head down, clearly out of strength, unable to look any more. Harry could only imagine how he must feel; wandless, unable to fight, and watching his mother like that right in front of him. Harry’s hand on his wand was so tight, it began to lose feeling; though he wasn’t sure he’d be quick enough, if it came down to it.

But then he gave an almost audible sigh of relief as the werewolf released Narcissa and pushed her down, straight into Malfoy’s arms. Her son caught her and held tight, his silent tears weaving in her silvery hair, the same color as his. Harry watched with his heart completely shattered as she patted his wet cheeks and planted a kiss on each of them. Then she rose to her feet and took a step back, looking at the kneeling boy in front of her.

“Be good, my Draco,” she said in a soft, clear voice. “Remember what I always told you, all right? I love you, my son. I love you. I will see you soon at our home. I will see you when the snows melt and the flowers bloom.”

It was a weird sentence, he had to admit, but he didn’t expect the reaction it received. It was only an instant, because in the next millisecond Malfoy’s face had gone back to his usual, blank expression; but for that instant he looked wild, almost broken, like he’d lost something he could never again get back.

Then Greyback took a step towards him again, raising his blond head with one long-clawed finger under his chin. “Do remember this, Draco boy. Remember our Lord decided to show you mercy, this time. I can guarantee there will not be a next.” Malfoy nodded and shuddered at his touch. Sensing that, the werewolf bent low, and he too kissed either side of Malfoy’s stunned face. He held it for a second longer, a red ember glimmering in his eyes, then bent again and kissed him right on his frozen-shut lips. Malfoy’s eyes went wide with trepidation, and Harry felt every muscle in his body itch. He found himself seconds away from forgetting everything and simply jumping out in attack. Then Greyback released the boy, whose head fell back down immediately, and took Narcissa by the hand. Malfoy looked up just in time to see them disappear behind the trees. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but then shut it back up. He bent his head and looked at the ground for a long, long time.

Now it was a real battle inside Harry not to hold him. In the end he won: he just couldn’t let the boy remain like this, kneeling on the frozen ground, tears still streaming down his face. He pulled Malfoy up, who came without a fight, like a rag doll rather than a person. He still looked completely fazed, like he has no idea who was touching him, but also like he could not care. Throwing caution to the wind Harry tore the cloak off him, and for a second Malfoy only stared at him in shock. Then he gave an odd cry, and the next second he was on Harry, his face buried in his collar, arms over his neck as if he was about to fall. Instinctively, Harry caught him; he wrapped his arms around the thin figure and squeezed tight. He didn’t know if Malfoy was actually crying, but his body was shaking with uncontrollable sobs, and Harry held on for dear life, for it felt like if he will let go they will both fall. They stayed like this for some time.

It was bitter cold, and every exposed part of Harry’s skin was practically burning, but he did not move. Slowly, gradually, the boy in his arms relaxed into his hold, and became still. Then Malfoy pushed him away and Harry let him, taking a step back and looking at the pale face. He wasn’t crying anymore. Instead, his silvery eyes seemed almost like they were on fire.

“Are you okay?” Harry asked, dumbfounded. The blond gave a non-committal groan. Harry stared at him. “I mean fuck, Malfoy, that was intense.”

For a second it seemed like the Slytherin was going to fall back onto his neck, but then he mastered himself. “Yes, yeah, I guess it was. I’m sorry.”

Harry shook his head. “That guy is an actual monster. I can’t believe you had to spend two whole months with him. He’s the creepiest dude I’ve ever seen, and I’ve fought Voldemort a couple of times.”

Malfoy trembled so badly at the name, it seemed like he might crumble. He looked round and met the green eyes. “He was actually pretty restrained today. I’m sure the Dark Lord has warned him, message only, no games.”

“No games? Then what the hell was that kiss about?” Malfoy looked surprised, almost like he didn’t remember it happened. Then he curled his lips in distaste.

“That was not a game. That was punishment.” He was still shaking. The desperation in his voice unnerved Harry. “I can’t believe I let him fucking touch her.”

“Malfoy, there was nothing you could do! You didn’t have a wand, and he’s far too quick anyway!”

“Yes, that seems to be the recurring theme, isn’t it? That there’s nothing I can do. Two months with him and I still just… freeze up at his sight.” He shook his head, silvery hair dancing everywhere. “But no, Potter, you're wrong. Greyback is feral, sure, but he isn’t the real sadist. He’s just happy to be let loose from the Dark Lord’s lead.”

“You don’t think he’ll do anything to her now, right? I mean, you’ve got your message. He shouldn’t be bothering her.”

“I should think not,” Malfoy said coolly, but his face showed signs of terror. “I’m sure it will lose some of its appeal, with me not being there. He likes to frighten, after all. And my mother isn’t the frightened type. I am the only coward in this family.”

Harry took a deep breath. “Malfoy, you’re not a coward. Come on, look at what you just faced for someone you love. You’re the opposite of a coward, really.”

“You don’t… you don’t know what you’re saying.” There was a lot of pain in the Slytherin’s voice. “But it doesn’t matter, anyway. You heard what she told me. This changes everything.”

“Er, what are you talking about?”

“We will meet when the snows melt. It was a code. She was giving me a message.”

“What?” Harry said quickly, trying to follow Malfoy in his eyes as the boy paced around him. “What kind of message? What did it mean?”

“It was – she wanted to tell me that – ah, fuck, Potter, it means we need to go to Dumbledore.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plans are changing rapidly. Harry's pretty chuffed about it.

“What? Go to Dumbledore? Are you serious?”

“Yes, Potter, I am bloody serious. It’s not like I have any other reason to utter these frightening words.”

“But – but why – “

“Oh, damn you, Potter, you and your questions and your options and your fucking free will.” Malfoy looked brittle, like he might fall and break into a million pieces. “She wants to run away,” he added in a shaky voice, finally coming to a halt. “She wants to run away, and we need to fucking help her, Potter. We need Dumbledore.”

Harry noted, but kept to himself, the sudden ‘we’ness of it all. He tried to keep his voice level and his face blank. “If that’s what you want, Malfoy. Of course.”

“Ugh, enough with that smugness already,” the Slytherin said, disgusted, even though Harry was quite sure he wasn’t showing any signs of his feelings. “Yes, you’ve fucking won, are you happy? I am going to your precious Professor. I am going to deny the Dark Lord his wishes. But I’m not doing it for you, and it doesn’t mean you saved me, so wipe that grin off your stupid face.”

“I’m not smiling, honest, I’m not,” Harry was quick to say. “Malfoy, this is a lot – maybe you should take a moment to think about it or something – “

“What else is there to think about? What more can I consider? she wants to run away. She can’t do it on her own, not when they are watching her, watching me like that. I can’t do anything to help her because, as always, I’m bloody helpless. So there’s only one thing, if I want to keep her alive… there’s only Dumbledore. Whether he lets me live or not,” he concluded with confusion, and Harry’s brows fired up.

“What do you mean? Dumbledore’s not going to kill you! You’re being ridiculous.”

“Maybe kill is the wrong word,” Malfoy shrugged, and he wasn’t looking at him. “Punish. Torture. Or just ship me off to Azkaban. I could have that reunion with my father you kept bringing up for a time.”

“He’s not going to do any of that! Malfoy, he’s going to _help_ you!”

“You have no idea – “ he started, but then paused and shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. Whatever, Potter, I will do whatever it takes. I was a coward, and a fool too, but seeing her tonight… I know I can’t keep this up. Everything’s bloody backfired but whatever, it doesn’t matter anymore.”

Harry didn’t catch anything of these ramblings, and he could only watch as Malfoy straightened himself up and pushed his silvery locks away from his eyes. He seemed to be steeling himself, and suddenly Harry felt very uncomfortable, like he was about to see something he really didn’t wish to. He didn’t know if Malfoy was going to start crying again, or if he will keep talking nonsense about what Dumbledore will do to him. Thinking like a bloody dark wizard, Harry told himself sternly. Dumbledore will never do any of these things. No matter what Malfoy’s task may have been.

Now that he thought about it... “Hey - If you go to Dumbledore, that means – that means you won’t do it, right?”

“Do what?”

“Your task. The one Voldemort gave you.” He was unintentionally holding his breath.

“Well, I very much doubt Dumbledore would let me,” the boy shrugged.

“So that means you’re going to renounce Voldemort.”

“My, Potter, are you slow this time of night.”

“So that means you won’t have to worry about Snape anymore. Or Crabbe and Goyle, for that matter.” Harry smiled at him, and got a very thin smile in response.

“Once she is safe, then yes,” he replied. “But I don’t know how much good it’ll do me, since I will probably be in prison by then.” Harry shook his head, still smiling. Malfoy sighed. “Potter, please take me to Dumbledore. I – I need his help. I need your help.” He bowed his head to the ground, and Harry squirmed with discomfort. “Please.”

Unable to speak because something was constricting his throat, Harry nodded. He reached a hand and held it straight in front of him, offering, and a little beseeching. With another sigh Malfoy took it and let Harry pull him forward. Harry smiled at him tenderly. “Don’t worry, Malfoy. I got you.”

They walked to the castle in complete silence, each boy lost in his own thoughts. He left Malfoy at the entrance hall as he went down to the Slytherin dungeons, and they said they’d meet the following evening so Harry could go with him to see Dumbledore. He actually wanted to go to the headmaster immediately, but Malfoy reminded him that it was the middle of the night, and they’re not supposed to be out and about anyway. Harry couldn’t wait to tell Ron and Hermione what had happened, so much so that he considered waking them up as he made his way to the tower. He crept up the staircase to meet the very annoyed Fat Lady, only to find his two friends sitting in the otherwise empty common room, waiting for him.

“Harry, thank goodness – we were starting to get so worried when you guys hadn’t moved, we thought maybe something was wrong with the map –“ Harry saw the Marauder's Map splayed open on the table next to them.

“You’ve been following me on this?” he asked, but he was smiling. His friends gaped at him, amazed.

“Of course we did, mate. We had no idea what’s going to happen in that forest, you know? It could have been a trap for Malfoy, or a trap for you.” Ron looked him straight in the eye. “What happened? We saw his mum and the werewolf appear, and then they just left. Is she okay?”

“Yeah, she’s fine,” Harry sat down next to them. “It got a little hairy there for a minute, but nothing happened. He’s terrible, you can’t even imagine. The way he was touching Malfoy – “ and Harry shivered with the memories of the fright he felt so recently.

“But what did he want? They would hardly just bring her here for a nice family visit. Why did they come?”

“I think they had two different agendas,” Harry mused, biting his lower lip. “Greyback’s intention was to scare Malfoy into submission, remind him of the threat. He told him Voldemort is showing him mercy now for not completing his task, but that it’s not going to happen again. But Narcissa…” he exhaled and stared at the fire. “She told him something else. She said she’s going to escape.”

“What, just like that, in front of Greyback?” Harry heard the shock in Ron’s voice.

“Certainly not,” Hermione scorned, rolling her eyes. “She must have given him some code, or something.”

“Yes, she said something about… something about snows melting… I dunno, it was weird. But then when they left Malfoy said it meant she wants to run away, and that he has to help her. Guys, he said he wants to go to Dumbledore.”

There was silence for a second when each of the teenagers was looking elsewhere. “Well that’s bloody wise of him,” Ron said finally. “Like you’ve been suggesting all along, but I guess it’s good he’s finally catching on.”

“Of course, there’s nothing else he could do to help her escape. Only Dumbledore could do that.” Hermione nodded fervently.

“He was really scared when he said that. He was under the impression that Dumbledore will hurt him or something, send him off to Azkaban.” Ron grunted in disapproval, but Hermione just stared into the fire. “Well he’s not going to, is he?”

“It’s not impossible, Harry. We don’t know what exactly it was that Voldemort wanted Malfoy to do. What if it was something really horrible? And he can’t just let him walk away after secretly working for Voldemort for three months, right?”

“But he wasn’t,” Harry said, stunned. “He wasn’t secretly working for him. First of all, he didn’t actually do anything. And second of all, it wasn’t a secret, because I knew!”

“Did you?” Hermione's eyebrows furrowed. “Did you know what his task was?”

“Well, no, but – it doesn’t matter, because he didn’t do it, and now he said he’s not going to! He’s going to turn him down, Hermione! We have to help him with that, at least. I mean, if nothing else, then to help his mum get away.”

Ron nodded his agreement, and Harry relaxed a little. “Of course, mate, we’re not saying we won’t help. Dumbledore will have a plan, and we’ll do whatever we can, yeah?”

Harry nodded, head sinking to the back of the armchair. “Thanks. Really, guys. Thanks for looking out for me tonight. I’ve… I don’t know if I told you how much I appreciate you two.”

“Wow, spending time with Malfoy sure makes him sweet,” Ron muttered, and even Hermione laughed. She rubbed her eyes and stifled a yawn.

“I think I’ll go to bed, now that we know you’re all right. You’ll go to him tomorrow night, I assume?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, yawning himself. “After dinner. We’ll need to get Snape out of the way.”

“We will make sure he doesn’t stick his large and greasy nose in your business,” Ron said, placing his hand on Harry’s shoulder. “That is, if you let us sleep a little before that. Come on, I’m beat.” Harry went up to his room after the redhead, feeling lighter than he had in many weeks.

***

  
It was impossible to concentrate on his lessons the following day, and he could see that Malfoy was struggling too. At dinner Harry could barely even manage a few bites. He didn’t know why he was feeling so uneasy; he didn’t really believe that Dumbledore would hurt Malfoy. And yet some of the other boy’s trepidation slithered into his heart, and he was almost running to Gryffindor tower to bring the things he needed.

He found Hermione and Ron already in the Room of Requirement, talking softly amongst themselves. They relaxed when they saw who it was, gesturing him inside. 

“So Hermione is going to keep an eye on Snape, and I’ll take the knuckleheads,” Ron said lightly as Harry sat down. “You grab Malfoy and bring him to Dumbledore’s office. I reckon you’ll be fine leaving, but in any case, you have your cloak?” Harry nodded. It was such a relief to have the other two with him, supporting him, helping. He almost didn’t feel so queasy anymore.

The door opened behind him and he jumped, but it was only Malfoy, staring at them with his huge eyes, hand still on the handle.

“Come in, quickly!” Harry whispered, and the blond remembered himself and walked in, closing the door and stepping slowly towards them. He stopped a few feet short of where they sat.

“Weasley. Granger.” Malfoy gave each of them a quick look, then brought his eyes back to the carpet. Harry could see him tensing up, and considering the events that transpired in Potions class, he felt a little apprehensive. He wasn’t sure if Malfoy was going to be angry, if he’s going to fight or just say nasty things. Instead, Malfoy looked like he was resigning to the fact his punishment was starting early. He walked even more slowly and sat down at the very edge of the sofa where Harry was perched, not looking at anyone.

“Malfoy,” Ron grunted, and Harry could actually see the boy shiver a little in his seat. He didn’t look up.

Hermione seemed to notice his behavior too. “We were just discussing the plan, Malfoy. Ron and I are going to keep an eye on Snape, Crabbe and Goyle. That should leave you free to go to Dumbledore with Harry.”

Malfoy nodded quietly, and Harry wanted to punch him. Why was he acting like that? He seemed to believe Harry when he said the others were on his side. And he was fine with him, when they were here together. He was even close to normal. So why is he so weird now?

“I hope you’re not too sour on the fact that a blood traitor and a Muggle born are helping you out, Malfoy,” Ron said, interpreting his behavior wholly differently. And wrongly, Harry hoped. Very wrongly.

“I’m not,” Malfoy said quietly. He still didn’t look up, though, when he continued. “I'm - Granger, I really am sorry for what I said last week. I’m… very grateful for your help. Thank you.”

The trio glanced at each other, all quite perplexed. Hearing Malfoy saying that was like hearing Professor McGonagall saying homework is dumb. Hermione was the first to recover.

“No problem, Malfoy.” The silence was heavy and a little sticky after that. She sighed. “Well, seems like we should be getting on our way. Ron, did you find them on the map?”

“Yep,” Ron got to his feet and offered her a hand. “They were at the very first place I looked. Still at dinner.” Hermione returned his smile. “If something’s wrong I’ll just hex them. I hope that’s all right.”

No one interjected. “Harry, you should be fine walking the halls, but it’s still not so wise for you two to be seen together. You should give Malfoy the cloak.” Hermione gave them one last look as the two reached the door. “If anything goes wrong, start singing Weasley is the king.” At the mention of the song Malfoy gave a start and nearly fell off the sofa. Eyebrow so high in her forehead it almost disappeared into the bushy hair, Hermione shook her head and they left.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Harry asked as soon as the door closed behind his friends. “Why are you looking like you’re about to be bloody tortured?”

Malfoy shook himself and finally looked up at Harry. “Didn’t know for sure that I wasn’t going to be. I still don’t really know.” His voice was very flat.

“Malfoy, you idiot, we are not going to hurt you. Ron and Hermione are trying to help.”

“I know, Potter,” the blond sounded desperate. “I know they’re trying to help. They’re trying to help _me_ , the boy they’ve loathed for five long years, the one who was an absolute arsehole to them. They hate me, Potter, I know they do. What I don’t know is why they aren’t trying to hurt me, to take advantage of this situation. It would be so easy for them. They know I’m wandless, helpless; they could do anything to me. Hell, even Crabbe and Goyle do.”

“Well we’re not like that,” Harry said, disgusted. “And they don’t know you’re wandless, anyway.”

“They don’t?” Malfoy’s eyes were so large all of a sudden. “You… didn’t tell them?”

“Nope. I reckoned they knew enough about your position. But even if they did, they wouldn’t use it to get revenge on you. Once this is all over and done with, and you’re stronger again, we could try and arrange an arena for you and Ron to fight in. But he won’t do it unless it’s fair. You know it.”

Malfoy sighed heavily. “This is such bollocks, Potter. Not everyone is all saintly like you. But it doesn’t matter, anyway. I’ve given up. Your fucking angelic friends and hero Professor can do whatever they like with me. It’s possible that I deserve it, too. I just want to get it over with, okay?”

Harry was scared by how dark his tone was. Standing up he offered his hand to the boy, but he never even looked at Harry as he got up and squared his shoulders. Harry gave him the cloak and watched as his slender figure disappeared right in front of him. “I could get used to this,” he said in a small voice, and unbelievably enough he heard Malfoy’s weak chuckle.

They met no one in the corridors, which was giving Harry a bit of a nauseous feeling. Sooner than they both expected, maybe, they were already standing in front of the stone gargoyles. “Er,” Harry said, scratching his neck as the two ugly heads looked at him. “I want to speak to Professor Dumbledore.”

“And what about the other fella?” the one next to him asked. Harry took no time to think about it, though he was surprised, and nodded.

“Um, yeah, him too. We both need to speak to him.”

“Ooh, Potter and his little invisible friend need to speak to Professor Dumbledore,” the second statue said sarcastically. “Sounds important, that. Wouldn’t want to get in the way, now, would we.”

“Come on,” Harry breathed impatiently. This was no time for their stupid games. “I really do need to see him. It’s urgent.”

“Urgent!” the gargoyle said, delighted, but a soft cough behind him made Harry turn immediately. There he was, the man himself; older than Harry had ever seen him, silver beard shining in the candlelight, that ever-present twinkle in his blue eyes. Harry felt relief sweeping through him, all previous thought of anger dissipating. He needed Dumbledore, and here he was. He took a deep breath, not even remembering the harsh feelings he harbored towards the headmaster for so long.

“Professor, I – we need to talk to you. Malfoy’s here, too, under the cloak.” Harry gestured towards him, and he could see the glint in the Headmaster’s eyes brighten. “Can we, er, come inside?”

He didn’t reply; rather, he gently rapped the gargoyle and the spiral staircase appeared. Waving his hand towards the boys he let them get on then followed suit, the stairs taking them upwards. They paused at the door to his office and Malfoy took off the cloak, appearing flushed and terrified out of thin air. He looked at the old man, and Harry could swear he was shaking with fear.

“I think I would like to speak to Mr. Malfoy alone first, if that’s acceptable with you.” Harry nodded with a strange lump in his throat. Malfoy bent his head, and Harry couldn’t tell if the gesture meant relief or resignation. “I’m sure we will call you in momentarily, Harry. Please, make yourself comfortable.” He waved his wand and a pleasant looking lilac armchair appeared next to him. Harry thanked him and sat down as the two entered the office.

He could only hear the irregular beating of his own heart. No sound came from behind the door, as if no one was even in there. Harry felt sweat covering his palms as the minutes wore on. He was sure Dumbledore isn’t going to do anything bad to Malfoy, no matter what the other boy thought. it wasn’t going to happen, it just didn’t make any sense. Surely he will just –

The door opened and Malfoy stood at the entrance, ghostly white and wide eyed. “You may come in now.”

Harry followed, scanning him with concern for signs of mistreatment, but he could see none. The Slytherin just looked – defeated. He sank on the chair in front of the headmaster and didn’t look at either of them. His fingers played with his robes absentmindedly, and his eyes were on the carpet.

“I’m sure you know, Harry, why it is that we are here. It is Draco’s wish to refuse Lord Voldemort’s orders and keep his mother out of harm’s way. I am glad you came to me, even though it of course would have been favorable had it happened sooner.” Harry felt his cheeks burn and started mumbling something, but Dumbledore had already moved on. “I must confess to you as well, Harry, that at the moment there isn’t much we can do for Narcissa. We shall endeavor to make contact, and if the opportunity arises we will aid in her escape in any way possible. I will, of course, keep you updated.”

“But, Professor – there must be something – “

“I am not saying this lightly, Harry. I know how much Draco had to sacrifice to come to me tonight. I’m afraid the situation is not so simple at the moment. However, we cannot turn back. The information Draco has shared with me is valuable, but not sufficient. And it does not, I regret to say, redeem his actions altogether.”

Harry looked over at the Slytherin, who seemed like he’s shrinking continually into the chair. It couldn’t have been clearer that he wished the ground would open up and swallow him whole. Harry had an uncomfortable feeling in his gut. “He didn’t do anything yet, Professor. You can’t punish him for considering to do something in order to save his and his mum’s lives.”

“True words, Harry, very true.” Dumbledore clasped his hands together and gave Harry one of his familiar, deep, soul-scanning looks. “But you must not let your personal feelings cloud your judgement, either. Until Narcissa is extracted safely, Harry, my wish is for you to keep an eye on Draco.”

That seemed to get the blond’s attention; he raised his head in surprise, almost in shock, eyes zooming between the headmaster and Harry. “What do you mean, Professor?”

“I would like you to meet with him regularly to ensure he remains on track. And in the more general sense, watch over his behavior. If you see anything out of the ordinary, I urge you to inform me. I am saying this in your presence, Draco, because I do not want this to be a secret. If you’d like to help your mother’s case, as you claimed repeatedly, you shall report to Harry. You said you are willing to make sacrifices. I am not usually a man who is convinced by words alone.”

Malfoy nodded, but didn’t say anything. He looked shocked, which was nothing more than what Harry felt. This was so very… un-Dumbledore-ish. He assumed that the old man treats everyone with the benefit of the doubt, same as he always did with Harry. Well, it’s not like he’s really punishing Malfoy or anything… but it was still rather strange. Then a thought crossed his mind.

“Sir – what about Snape?”

“Professor Snape, Harry. He will be left out of this plan, as was Draco’s wish. For now, he shall not receive the news of Draco’s change of heart.”

“But he-“

“I’m sorry, Harry, but I’m not going to discuss Professor Snape’s actions with you. We already established he has earned my trust, and I do not wish to return to that conversation. Out of understanding towards Draco’s predicament, though, I have decided to exclude him of the matter altogether.”

“All right,” Harry said, still not entirely convinced. His taking Malfoy’s wand at night seemed unbelievably cruel, and possibly dangerous too. But if Malfoy didn’t say anything about it, who was he to push on the subject? Dumbledore already knew how he feels about Snape. “So what now, Professor?”

“Now you must wait and let me try and examine the situation my own way. I promise you both that I will do everything in my power to help save Narcissa. I hope this promise is enough.” He looked directly at Malfoy now, who for the tiniest of seconds met his gaze, and nodded. Then he returned to firmly stare at the ground, and Dumbledore brought his blue eyes back to Harry. “Until we meet again, then.” The two boys got up and left the office, down the spiral staircase and back to the Room of Requirement without saying a word.

Only when they plopped down on the sofas did Harry speak. “So that wasn’t so terrible, right? I mean, he didn’t throw you in Azkaban, so that’s something.”

“No,” Malfoy said, thinking hard. “No, he didn’t send me to prison. And he didn’t punish or torture me. He just… brought me back to you.” The look he was giving Harry was a little sheepish.

“Relax, Malfoy. I think you should know by now I’m not going to torture you.”

“No,” the blond said again, his lip snarling. “You will just order me about the castle like your little puppy dog. Aren’t you glad to still have this power over me, Potter?”

Harry gasped. It was so unfair. “I didn’t ask for it, Malfoy. You wanted my help, and I said I’d give it to you. I’m not looking to boss you around.”

“No, of course you aren’t, being the saint that you are. You are simply surprised to find me dangling in your grasp, not at all delighted.” His grey eyes seemed far darker than normal. “You find no pleasure whatsoever in having me at your beck and call like that.”

“I don’t! Malfoy, I don’t know what – disturbing thoughts you have going on, but I’m not going to act any differently because of it. I’m not going to lord over you or whatever. Honestly, I just want to help.”

Malfoy sniffled a little, not looking at him. He seemed to struggle immensely with something within himself. “You’ve won, Potter. You have me spinning round your little finger even tighter than before. Once again you can have me do anything you wish. I hope you’re happy.”

“I’m not! I’m not going to – force you to do anything or whatever. I’m not bloody Crabbe or Goyle. I thought you knew that.”

“I do,” Malfoy exhaled with difficulty, burying his face in his hands. “I do. It’s… driving me up the wall, but I do know that.” Harry felt like he’s able to breathe properly again. “You’ll probably just try to get me to adopt an abandoned shelter dog or something. And be an entirely insufferable git all along.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” Harry smiled at him. “You’ll have to make room in your Slytherin-colored house, between all the serpents and stuff. A pee-pad or something, at least until you potty train it.”

The smile on Malfoy’s face seemed strained. “I don’t think I’ll be back to my serpent-covered house, Potter. Not in the near future, at least.” He heaved a sigh.

Harry really didn’t know what to say to that. “I’m sorry. That sucks. Although maybe you’d be better off in a new, serpent-free house after all. You could still have something green in it, if you’d like. Maybe a plant or something.”

The Slytherin snorted and looked at Harry. “A plant. How great. Something else to take care of. Stop it, Potter, you’re smothering me.”

“Oh, just you wait. If you wanted you could always come with me and spend time with my Muggle family. They’re great, you’d absolutely love them.”

“I didn’t think Gryffindors can be sarcastic,” Malfoy cocked an eyebrow, and Harry laughed. “Why are they so terrible, anyway?” he seemed to relish the change in subject.

“Dunno really. They just are. Not to say that all Muggles are bad or something, I know how you pure-bloods think with your prejudice. They just happen to be three of the worst people on the face of the earth.”

“I do wish I could meet them now. Any person that can cause you to make that face is worthy of my attention.” They both laughed, but then Malfoy grew silent. “Potter, I… thanks. Thank you for doing this for me. I mean, I know you’re not doing it for me, but… still. Thanks.”

“Sure,” Harry said, and for a second Malfoy looked so sad he found himself itching to touch him again. But he fought down the urge and cleared his throat. “Now, Dumbledore did basically say I’m in charge. So I guess we should meet every week or something, just to catch up. Oh, and I want you to eat like a normal person again, okay? I think you’ve actually lost more weight this week.”

“Will you stop looking at what I bloody eat, Potter?” he said a little shrilly, but then took a calming breath and closed his eyes. “Fine. Whatever you say. You’re the boss now, I guess.”

it really didn’t make Harry feel better to hear him say that, especially in that miserable tone of voice. “…Right. So let’s say we meet on… Wednesday?”

“I have Quidditch practice this Wednesday.” Maybe the blond realized how bitter he sounded, because he added, “Thursday?”

“No, I have my practice. How about Friday, then?” Malfoy nodded, and it was set. There was an awkward silence now. Harry suspected that to sit tight and wait was going to be a lot more difficult for Malfoy, especially because he didn’t trust Dumbledore. Or him, Harry had to remind himself. Not that he trusted Malfoy, but still, it was weird for him to be viewed as a possible threat.

“So I’ll see you Friday, then. And until she is safe we can’t say or do anything in front of Crabbe and Goyle, Okay? They can’t know. And neither can Snape.”

“Of course. No problem. See you Friday.” He left, and Harry hated how familiar it was beginning to feel, watching the blond hair disappear and having that sinking feeling in his stomach.  



	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What, a little action, you say? Nah, just a kiss, don't worry about it. Ron is less of a douche. Harry gets confused, big time.

He didn’t like this feeling, and day by day he began to resent the role Dumbledore has given him. Keeping an eye on Malfoy made him feel like a cop eyeing up a suspect, and it completely ruined his balance. He found himself staring at the Slytherin instead of focusing in lessons; looking at his face more than at the food on his own plate; even when he closed his eyes he could see him. It was unnerving, really. And it hadn’t even been a week.

Ron and Hermione were very sympathetic, but he could detect the slight winds of I-told-you-so blowing from their direction. And they were right, obviously; they told him not to get involved, and he should have listened to them. Maybe if he never got involved, he wouldn’t be dreaming of the blond at night. Although this specific detail he didn't share with anyone.

He was only taking his job seriously, he told himself over and over again. Dumbledore left him a mission, and he wasn’t going to let him down. _That_ was the reason he couldn’t keep his eyes away from the lad. It probably wasn’t the way the light bounced off his platinum-colored hair or the silvery lines in his eyes. No, definitely it wasn’t that. Just his position as the person in charge, that’s all. For sure.

Harry found himself both dreading and looking forward to Friday night. Malfoy gave him a note that morning with the time for their meeting, and it was all he could do not to scream as he crumpled it to a tiny ball and stuffed it in his pocket. He was nervous, that couldn’t be denied. And excited. Although for what reason, he couldn’t really tell. Maybe the fact he was in on a secret rescue mission. Maybe it was that he was feeling useful again, especially after Malfoy admitted he needs his help. Maybe it was just that he hadn’t thought of Sirius almost all week during his waking hours. Whatever the reasons may be, when eight o’clock neared he left the other two with their homework, and made his way to the seventh floor with a barely-containable smile.

Malfoy arrived right on time, and Harry noted he seemed slightly better fed than on the weekend. He tried a little smile as the blond took a seat on the sofa in front of him, but it just felt weird, so he turned it into a yawn.

“Oh - I’m sorry, Potter, boring you already?” there was a slight smirk on the pale face, but he still looked rather uncomfortable. Harry crossed his arms on his stomach and looked at him.

“How are you doing, Malfoy? Been an all right week?”

For a second, he just stared back. “Sorry, I didn’t realize this was going to be a therapy session. Yes, my week has been fine. Number of evil-murderous-thoughts: zero. Total of evil acts committed: zero. Will to return to the Dark Lord: non detected. I was as sweet as a lamb, Potter, I assure you.”

Harry laughed, but it was a little heavier than usual. “Well, that’s good to know at least. Did you have any troubles with, er, your old friends?” he didn’t want to say Snape, but they both know who he meant.

“No. No words from him. Or much from Crabbe and Goyle, for that matter. Either they forgot to continue abusing me, or they simply ran out of ideas for new ways to do it.” His voice was casual, but Harry could see darkness in his eyes.

“Seriously, though,” he said quickly in an attempt to diffuse the tension, “and I’m saying this in all honesty – terrible choice of friends, mate. I’d say Crabbe is the dumbest person in the world, if I hadn’t met Goyle.”

Malfoy laughed, and something seemed to have unclenched in his demeanor. “They are actually considered as the missing link between man and ape. Truly, science-wizards are stumped.”

“Probably took their minds out of their bodies to examine them, and that’s why they’re like that.”

“No, I’m pretty sure it didn’t make much difference in their behavior.” He was smiling, a real smile, and Harry felt it doing something weird to his belly. He couldn’t help but smile back.

“Hey, they’re your friends. You’d know better.”

“Gods, Potter, what a weird life, isn’t it?” Malfoy stretched his arms, sliding down on the sofa. “Sitting here with you, badmouthing Crabbe and Goyle. If you’d told me last year that this is what I’d be doing, I would have… probably cursed your mouth shut, for starters.”

Harry chuckled, scratching his neck. “Yeah, I never would have guessed it. It’s still hard to believe, even though it’s happening right now.”

“Liar,” Malfoy said with a smile, still trying to get comfortable in his seat. “You always had a thing for me, you just didn’t know how to go on about it. Pretty much jumped at the first chance you had, didn’t you? Desperate.”

“Right, I’m the desperate one. It’s not like you’ve been chasing me for years now, ever since we were eleven.”

“Hey!” Malfoy hollered, chuckling. “I was not chasing you. I’d never chase anyone. I have way too much dignity for that.”

“Come on, Malfoy, admit it. Ever since I said no to you on the train first year, you went out of your way trying to get me to notice you. To be honest, it was pretty embarrassing to watch. I’m fairly sure I only reached out to you this year out of pity.”

Malfoy made a ‘pfft!’ sound and shook his head. “Unbelievable. Just admit that you like me and get on with it, Potter. Your little act isn’t fooling anyone.”

“Hey, it’s Golden Boy for you. Don’t try to get too close now, or I might get the wrong impression.”

Malfoy laughed and rolled his eyes. “Sorry, Mr. Golden boy, sir. I’d be sure to watch myself. Can’t ever be too careful... You know how I get when I’m around lanky, messy-haired prats.”

“I’m lanky? I’m a hell of a lot more muscular than you. I could probably lift you up no bother. With one arm even, maybe.”

“Okay, conversation getting a little out of hand,” he smirked. “I really don’t want to know what you want to do to me or with how many arms, all right? keep those for your daydreams.” Malfoy was still smiling, though he became marginally more tense. Absently he placed a hand on the place where Harry knew his rib had been broken.

“How is – all that?” Harry asked, pointing to the general area of the boy’s chest. Malfoy shrugged again.

“It’s getting better still. I think it shouldn’t take too long till it’s fully recovered. It doesn’t look nice, but it doesn’t hurt nearly as much.”

“Can I see?” Harry asked tentatively. Malfoy seemed hesitant for a second, but then he got to his feet and walked towards Harry, sitting himself carefully next to him and unbuttoning his shirt very slowly. Harry found that his hands were clenched into fists at his sides, and his heart was beating quite a bit faster. Finally he reached the last button and took the shirt off.

Harry had to swallow a few times before he could say anything. He did think it looked better, sort of. The bruise was mostly gone, making the cuts and burns Harry had noticed before more noticeable on his chest. The broken rib didn’t seem as bad, but it still looked tender. Without realizing he was doing it, Harry sent his hand forward to touch the bare skin. Malfoy jumped a little when he made contact, but he didn’t pull away, and Harry traced the lines of his scars lightly and very carefully. He skimmed the place where he remembered the bleeding gash was at his side, which was now smooth and healthy. When he raised his glance to look at Malfoy’s face, he saw the boy’s eyes were squeezed shut.

Now it was getting a little difficult to swallow. He took his hand off him immediately, and shoved it in his lap. “Sorry,” he nearly whispered, and Malfoy shivered. “I didn’t mean to – “ but he really didn’t know how to finish this sentence, so he shut up instead.

“It’s all right,” Malfoy said slowly, opening his eyes. “Can I – “ he asked, motioning towards his shirt on the sofa, and Harry had a sick feeling in his stomach.

“Of course, Malfoy, fuck – I mean, I wasn’t going to… I wasn’t about to _force_ you to – to take your clothes off for me, or something. God damn it, Malfoy!”

“Sorry,” he replied, buttoning his shirt back up. “That’s not – exactly what I was trying to imply.” He cleared his throat politely.

“I just wanted to make sure – I just wanted to see that you’re okay, that’s all.”

“Uh-huh. I got it.”

“Seriously, Malfoy! I wasn’t going to do anything! I didn’t even mean to touch you!”

“It’s fine, Potter. I mean, getting sexual favors from people who are in your debt isn’t something completely unheard of. It’s not like I’m wholly unprepared for it or something. I was just – a little taken aback, that’s all.”

“Shut up, Malfoy, shut up right now. You are not in any debt here, and I am not going to receive any sexual favors from you. Why would you even say that? That’s disgusting, Malfoy. Honestly. Unbelievable.”

“All right, all right, don’t get your knickers up in a bunch. I was just saying that, you know, it’s not something I’d be… whatever. Forget it, Potter. It’s fine.”

“Never mention this again. I’m serious. It’s… it’s sick. I won’t have it, I don’t ever want to hear about it.”

“Got you. Loud and clear. Don’t need to say it again.”

“I’m just so… Jesus, Malfoy!” Harry realized he was rubbing his eyes a little too strongly when they started stinging, and he let them go. Only now he had to look at the Slytherin again, and that smirk on his face was really wearing him down. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Whatever you say, boss.” He was still smirking as he took his eyes off of Harry.

“God, Malfoy. I just wanted to see that you’re alright. That’s all.”

“I got it. It’s okay. I’ll never mention this again, all right? You can calm down now.”

Harry took a deep breath, rubbing his head which was starting ache. He desperately needed to steer the conversation back to a safer path. “Is your leg okay? I see that you’re not limping anymore.”

“Yes, but I’m not going to take my trousers off to show you. Not unless you make me.”

_“Malfoy!”_

“Sorry, sorry, my bad. What I meant was, it’s fine. My leg is fine, my chest is fine, my whole body is fine. I’m all fine. I’m eating every day and I’m doing bloody fine. So you can stop worrying about me, all right? Because it’s only making me worse, I swear.”

“Okay. I’ll stop asking. As long as you take care of yourself, so I don’t have to pick you up from the floor anymore in random deserted corridors.” He didn’t try and check if it sounded wrong or not, because the amused look on the blond’s face didn’t seem so dangerous anymore, and he calmed down again. Although having Malfoy sit next to him was a little disconcerting.

“Thank you.” It still seemed like it was a little hard for him to say these words. “Anyway, Potter, if you are quite done with me for tonight, I should probably go back to my homework.”

Harry blinked a few times fast. “Sure, I guess we’re done here. I’ll, er, see you next week? Let me know when you have some free time.”

“I’ll send you a note.” Malfoy cleared his throat and got up. “It’s been… well, as weird as hell, so thanks for that, Potter.” And he left, still smiling. Harry let himself slide down to the carpet and remained there for some long twenty minutes.

***

It bothered Harry so much, that he simply couldn’t wait another week to settle it. As early as Charms class on Monday, when everyone went off for lunch, Harry cornered Malfoy in the classroom and closed the door. He steeled himself, squared his shoulders, and looked at the boy.

“Malfoy, you know the thing you said on Friday?”

“The thing you had me promise to never mention again?” One light eyebrow shot up in amusement.

“Yes, that. Did you – is that what you expected to happen that night? did you come in thinking I’m going to be asking you to do – that – for me?”

“Well, not exactly _that_.” The eyebrow went even higher up, and Harry felt sick. “No, I don’t know. I’m not sure what I was thinking will happen. I just said it was a possibility, okay, not a big deal.”

“But it is a big deal. It’s a huge deal. Malfoy, I would never take advantage of you that way. It’s – it’s horrible. I would never, ever do that.”

“Relax, Potter, that’s not what I was suggesting. There’s no need to get so dramatic. And besides, I don’t think I would have cared so much.”

“But I – seriously, it’s just not right.”

“Okay, fine. I’d only take my pants off for you when I really want to, all right? You can rest assured. No one is going to be forcing anyone.”

Harry placed a hand over his eyes, unable to look at him. “God, Malfoy, I don’t even like boys!”

“Fine. Whatever. Then no.”

“I mean – do you?” he was so outraged, he had to look now. The Slytherin shrugged.

“I’m sixteen, Potter. I’m attracted to almost anything with a pulse. Look, I get what you’re trying to say, okay? I know you’re a bloody good guy. You’re not going to take advantage of me. I get it. Your flowers and thank-you note are awaiting in your bedroom. Now, you’ve kind of been all up my arse lately to eat, and if you don’t let me go soon, lunch will be over.”

Harry took a deep, shuddering breath. “Fine. I – just as long as you got it. And you won’t be… thinking like that anymore.”

“No sir. Only consensual, heteronormative sex for you, I got it. No need to discuss it ever again.”

Harry nodded. “Good. Now do go and get some food, you lazy git.’ Malfoy gave him a mock salute and left the room, checking first to see no one was in the hall. Harry gave him a minute then followed to the Great Hall, where he was received with questioning looks around spoonfuls of gravy. He felt much better after his conversation with Malfoy, even though he was still a little concerned with how freely the boy spoke about… these things. And with him. It was so weird, he had to push it right out of his head. Surely Malfoy was just teasing him, because he saw how nervous Harry was getting. It’s not like he actually **meant** that he wanted to take his pants off for him.

God, he hated Malfoy.

And what was worse, after this conversation his dreams started to get really bizarre. As if it wasn’t bad enough that he had to see the blond all day long, now he visited his dreams almost every night. And in some of them that Harry remembered in horror, he was… doing very weird things. Very, very weird. Occasionally without a shirt on.

Urgh, this was getting out of hand. He should go to Dumbledore and tell him he can’t continue this anymore. Spending time with the Slytherin was not doing him any good, he could see that straight away. The closer the day of their next meeting was getting, the more anxious he was to cancel it. He didn’t think he can stand another night like Friday. Definitely his nether regions were startled. He just wished that he wouldn’t have to see the boy up close, that he wouldn’t have to have all these… confusing thoughts in his brain. And why was he so confused? What was so odd about the way he was feeling? Malfoy was just a friend. No, not really a friend. An – acquaintance. And he wanted to see him, because he was worried. He wanted to be near him to make sure he’s all right. And he wanted to touch him because –

Merlin, here he goes again. _I do not want to touch Malfoy_ , he told himself sternly. Not at all. Not even a little. That thing that his hand did when Malfoy took off his shirt was involuntary and instinctive. It meant nothing, and he would certainly not do it again. Never, ever again.

That was the main reason why he was a little jittery on their next Potions class. Snape has been keeping tabs on their Polyjuice potions, and now was the time for them to resume with the next step. Meaning, the four of them had to work together again. Thinking of how it went down the previous time, Harry sat down at the table with a fully developed sweat.

“So it’s pretty easy from here on now,” Hermione said in a very light tone, passing out knives as Ron spilled the ingredients on the table in front of them. “We should finish with the preparation in about thirty minutes, and that should give us enough time to mix it all in according to the stages.”

Malfoy cleared his throat and Harry looked at him, a feeling of certain incoming disaster twisting in his gut. “Actually, Granger, if we put the salamander skins in now, it will give them more time to steam, making the liquidation process quicker.” He spoke very politely and without looking anyone in the eye. Hermione seemed extremely surprised.

“Well that’s – yes, that is a good point, Malfoy. would you prep them then?”

He nodded and proceeded to wash and peel the salamanders, working so quietly and efficiently, even Hermione looked impressed. Ron and Harry accepted their tasks from her without refrain, and for some time the four of them just worked away in surprising calm.

“Weasley, pass me that beaker, would you?” Malfoy sent out a hand, his eyes focused on the colorful liquid he was swirling in the pot. Ron gave him a scornful look.

“What’s the magic word, Malfoy?”

That caught Malfoy’s attention. He raised his eyes to meet the blue, the flush in his cheeks deep in the dim candlelight. “Please,” he uttered with great difficulty, his eyes narrowing.

“That’s more like it,” Ron exhaled, passing the glass beaker over with a bud of a smile. Malfoy shook his head as he received it from his hands, silently furious. “What is it, Malfoy? not used to asking nicely? We are not your servants, you know. You can’t treat us like we’re Crabbe and Goyle.”

“I know that,” Malfoy spat, carefully ladling the potion into the beaker. “I never thought you were. I’m just a little tired of begging.” Once the liquid was safely extracted and placed on the table for cooling, Malfoy lowered his gaze. His eyes seemed emptier than the pot Hermione just cleared. “I’m sorry, I know you have no reason to be kind to me. If you wish me to, I will beg.”

Ron looked shocked. “That’s not at all what I meant. Not by a longshot.”

“Well then, what did you mean? You know you have me at the palm of your hand. What would you like me to do? grovel? Kiss your boots? Just say it, so I can do it already, and be done with it.” he seemed genuinely desperate. Harry’s heart contracted painfully inside him.

“Malfoy, I don’t want you to do any of these things. What kind of a twisted fantasy world do you live in?” Ron’s voice was very weak. Harry stared at him with weary gratefulness.

“I don’t know what it is that you want of me.” Malfoy bent his head, and Harry thought he saw the glistening of hysterical tears in his eyes. “I don’t know how you wish to get back at me – punish me –“

“What? We are not going to punish you, Malfoy. you’re not making any sense.” Ron seemed a touch frightened.

“I know you hate me, Weasley. I’ve given you nothing but reason for years, and you too, Granger. Now you finally have the chance to make me pay, and you would have me believe you are not going to take it? Please, just get it over with. Do whatever it is that you want, but do it now. The wait is killing me. I can’t take it any longer.”

“You’re out of your mind. No one is going to do anything to you, all right? Malfoy, you have to believe me.” Ron’s whisper was rather anxious.

Malfoy didn’t seem to trust him, and he didn’t glance up to see the look on his face. It was terrible to see his shoulders drooping, his lip shaking. “Please. I am so tired of this.” He did sound exhausted. Harry shivered all over.

“Malfoy, calm down. Ron doesn’t want to do anything to you, none of us do. we know you are going through a lot right now, and we simply want to help you, like Harry said.” Hermione’s whisper somehow managed to be very warm.

“Yeah, she’s right, mate. I don’t want your begging or groveling or whatever it was that you said. I just want– I don’t know. For you to act like a decent human being for a change.”

Malfoy nodded and carefully brought his head back up. His lips were very tight. “I – all right.”

“Listen, I really am sorry about what I said the last time. I am not going to do anything to endanger you or your mum. And I really don’t want anything from you. So you can relax.”

The grey eyes seemed so huge in the low light. “You know this is your opportunity. To get your revenge, to make me pay for what I’ve done, after all this time. You may never get another.”

Ron gave a shaky, terrified laugh. “I think you’ve already paid enough.” Harry couldn’t help but agree; the misery on the blond’s face was actually hard to bear. “Malfoy, we are done hurting you. You’ve had so much handed to you already. I’d never dream to add any more.”

Malfoy shook his head. There was disbelief in his eyes, and also some resentment. “So all this time I spent hating you… you really were the good guys?”

Hermione shrugged with a tiny hint of a smile. “I suppose so.”

“And you really won’t – you are not going to make me – “ he seemed unable to continue, and Ron hurriedly shook his head.

“No. we are not going to make you do anything. Ever. We are even.”

He expelled a long sigh, of relief or annoyance, it was hard to determine. “All right. Even.”

Ron certainly looked relieved. “Good. But that still doesn’t mean I don’t think you’re a slimy ferret, you know.”

He seemed a little cheerier, the edges of his lips curving upwards. “Understood, Weasel.” Ron gave a half smile, and the four of them returned to work on their potion with a lighter air. Harry was shocked to see how the three seemed to be working almost naturally together, Malfoy and Hermione treating each other with polite interest, and Ron and Malfoy actually managing to keep a quiet distance. He never could have imagined this, seeing them like that. It didn’t make his feelings any clearer.

He was very, very concerned with the space the boy was beginning to take in his mind, and he was growing all the more worried about their impending meeting. But the days kept coming and going, and he still hadn’t cancelled, so come Thursday night he found himself walking to the seventh floor with a heavy heart and a dizzy, hot feeling in his chest. To his surprise, Malfoy was already there.

“You’re early,” he said without thinking. The blond was sitting on the sofa he’d usually take, though on the other side of it. A little hesitantly, and purely because he didn’t want to seem like he was afraid to, he walked past him and took his usual seat.

“Yes, I finished most of my schoolwork early. I couldn’t let you always be the one to arrive first, I thought. This way I can set the atmosphere for the meeting. It’s a power move, you see.”

“Oh, I do see.” Harry had to smile at him. “Very powerful on your part.”

“Thank you,” the Slytherin retorted, this time in a completely normal tone. “I’ve been waiting to hear you say that for a long time now.”

“Gladly. So, Malfoy… had a good week?”

The boy sighed. “Oh, that thing. Yes, Potter, it’s been fine. I’ve had zero suicide attempts, zero evil attacks, and still completely terrified of the very notion of the Dark Lord. So we’re all good, I guess.”

“Suicide attempts?” Harry asked in a low voice. Malfoy seemed furious with himself.

“Just a little joke, Potter, to lighten up the mood. Nothing for you to worry about.”

“Malfoy, have you been thinking about that? Have you been trying to kill yourself?”

“Well that would make all of this a little redundant, wouldn’t it, the whole trying-to-save-my-life thing.” His voice was getting colder by the syllable. “No, I never tried to do it. But I have thought about it, occasionally. Honestly, though, you don’t need to worry. I’m far too selfish and way too big of a coward to ever try something like that.”

“Malfoy, that’s not funny. This is a serious business. Do you want to talk about it?” even though everything about Malfoy was suggesting otherwise – his tone, the look on his face, the way his body seemed to withdraw into himself – Harry had to ask.

“No, I do not want to talk about it. I’m sorry I brought it up, it was just a stupid joke. Please, can we talk about something else? Anything else?”

“Sure,” Harry said, but no other subject came to mind. He stared at the fire. “Have you, er, heard more from your mother?”

“You always know how to cheer me up,” the blond said quietly. “No, I’ve not heard anything. I doubt she would write to me now, not with what she is thinking of doing. And even if she would write, I don’t think Snape would let me read it. She’s played her part in his book.”

“Scaring you into doing your task?” Harry asked softly. Malfoy nodded. “Did Dumbledore say anything more to you? Do you know if he managed to make contact?”

“Our headmaster doesn’t really speak privately to me, Potter. That’s more something he does with you. Anyway, I doubt he will tell me anything, even if something was progressing. I don’t think he trusts me.”

“I can ask him, if you want. I could try and talk to him about it.”

Malfoy thought about it for a moment. “Thank you. If – if you get the chance, at some point. I suppose.” He lowered his eyes to the fire, and Harry was mesmerized by the flames reflected in the soft silver. “I guess I’m just... scared that the answer might be no. I truly don’t know what I’ll do.” He sniffled, and something twisted in Harry’s gut. “I think about it all day. About what will happen. I’m just so scared that – that night at the forest was the last time I’d ever see her alive.” He buried his face in his hands, and Harry didn’t know what to do. Gingerly he slid down on the sofa towards him, until he was close enough to touch, and still he hesitated. But then the boy let out some sort of a subdued wail, and Harry’s heart gave a lurch, so he put his hand on his shoulder. It was like a spell; the moment his fingers found his body, the blond started moving.

Malfoy grabbed Harry’s shirt with one hand, his head emerging from between his arms, and Harry could see just how white he was, how distraught. He pulled Harry towards him, or maybe he fell into Harry, and placed his head on the groove of Harry’s neck silently. One of his hands was still grasping Harry’s shirt, twisting the fabric. The other found Harry’s wrist and he held it tight. With his free hand, Harry wrapped around the boy’s waist, and for a moment they just sat like that, Malfoy leaning against Harry, and Harry holding him, and they were both quiet. Harry closed his eyes and just **breathed**. He could smell the boy’s scent; it was a little lemony and slightly fruity. His mind was so frazzled, he started wondering if he’d taste like that, too. He could feel Malfoy’s deep breaths pulling him in when he inhaled, and pushing him out when he exhaled.

After a while Malfoy sniffled again, and then he let go of Harry’s wrist. Slowly Harry pulled his arm from around his body and took himself backwards so he could look at his face. “It’s going to be alright,” he said stupidly, because he didn’t know what else to say. “Dumbledore’s going to find a solution. He always does. He’s a kind of a genius in that sense.”

Malfoy gave a strangled laugh, and Harry patted his shoulder lightly. “Thanks, Potter. This is the second time you’ve had to see me in this state. I’m sorry about that.”

“Hey, don’t worry. I don’t mind. Although it is startling to think of you as an actual human being.”

Malfoy slapped his thigh playfully. He seemed to be recovering speedily. “I’m not a human being. Obviously I’m far too beautiful to be one. I’d say I’m part god, but then I’d have no excuse as to why I need your help of all the people in the world. So let’s just say I’m something mythical and mysterious.” He left his arm on Harry’s leg, a fact which Harry blatantly ignored.

“Sure thing. You can be whatever you want, it’s a free country.”

“I think I’d like to be a dragon.” Malfoy’s voice sounded almost back to normal. Harry smiled at him.

“They’re not exactly mythical. I had to fight one two years ago, remember? Nearly didn’t make it out of the pen alive.”

“Oh, yes. I remember making bets on how long you’d last. You cost me quite a bit of money that day when you came up first. I blame myself, though; never go against the Golden Boy, that’s rule number one.”

“Yeah, you really should have learned that sooner. It never really worked in your favor, going against me. I’m glad you finally wizened up about it.”

“Only took a little bit of soul-crushing, and here we are,” Malfoy said cheerily, but his smile was a little vacant. “Ha, do you remember the time I got you in detention last year?”

“Remember the time my floating head threw mud at you in Hogsmeade?” He asked, sticking his tongue out.

“Remember the time I dressed up as a dementor to mess with you?”

“Er, didn’t you end up falling on your arse in front of the whole school?”

“Oh, yes – hmm, maybe not the best memory then. But there were others, I’m sure there were many. Merlin, I was hilarious back then. And combined with my good looks, I honestly don’t know how you could keep your hands off me.”

“It may have had something to do with all the hexing you were doing back then,” Harry smiled. He was very aware of Malfoy’s hand still on his thigh.

“Right, right, there was that. Oh well, what can you do about it. Boys will be boys, you know.” He still didn’t take his hand off, and Harry was starting to lose it.

“Yeah… did it ever occur to you, on all those numerous occasions when you were being so funny, that you actually didn’t want to hex me?”

“No? what did I want to do, then?”

“I don’t know. You tell me. You’re the one who wanted to do it.” He could sense Malfoy inching towards him, even though he couldn’t really see it happening in real time. The pale face turned towards his, and he could feel his heart leaping in his throat.

“I’m not sure,” Malfoy said, and his head was coming closer and closer. “Can’t remember. It was so long ago.”

“Try to think about it,” Harry retorted, but he could only manage a whisper. Malfoy’s face was now so close to his, he could feel the boy’s breaths on his lips. Panicking, he grabbed his other hand at the wrist, holding it tight.

“It might be coming back to me,” Malfoy said softly, and Harry felt his words blowing on his face. He was staring so deep into the grey eyes, he got lost in the silver lines inside.

It happened so naturally, Harry didn’t even stop to think about it; Malfoy leaned forward and put his lips on Harry’s and kissed him softly. The hand that was lodged on his thigh let go and then it was behind his neck, pulling him towards Malfoy. His kiss was so soft, so slow, that he felt like crying. More and more he got pulled into it, and he kissed him back with growing tenacity, not even considering breaking for air. His hand shot to the boy’s head and ran in his smooth, silky hair. He pressed himself against Malfoy, as close as he could, breathing him in deeply through his nose when he couldn’t take it anymore. His one hand playing in the soft hair, the other holding his wrist like he’d never let go, and still he dove further in, pushing against the boy, and their lips hadn’t broken contact. The kiss became even softer, closer, and it was too much - He hadn’t realized he closed his eyes until he suddenly opened them and looked at the blond, startled. He pulled back and let go of the wrist he was squeezing, hands falling at his sides.

“Malfoy, what – what was that?” he could only speak quietly. Malfoy smiled.

“That’s called a kiss, Potter. Do we need to have the talk? Would you like me to explain more about how this works?”

“I know what it was, Malfoy. Why did you do it?” Harry felt his cheeks burning, his blood running hot in his veins.

“Because I wanted to,” the boy whispered, smiling. Harry could feel that smile piercing right through him. He looked at the grey eyes, and Malfoy’s smell was still so strong in his nostrils, he wanted nothing more than just to lean forward and –

But he went backwards instead, confuddled and alarmed. “You – you wanted to?”

“Yes, Potter, I wanted to. I’m sad and alone and I wanted to kiss you, all right?” his tone was growing desperate, his eyes widening. Harry shook his head.

“I’m sorry, Malfoy. I don’t.” he wanted to say more, to explain, but he simply wasn’t able to. For a split-second Malfoy looked almost crestfallen, and Harry’s heart was twisting inside him painfully. But then the Slytherin rearranged his features into a light smile, and he leaned back on the sofa.

“It’s okay. I’m sorry I tried to kiss you. You did tell me before that you weren’t interested, so I guess I should have listened then.”

“Malfoy, it’s just that – “

“By all means, Potter, please stop talking about it.”

“But I’m only – I mean, you’re a boy – “

“Fully aware of that fact.”

“and I – I just – you’re _Malfoy_ – “

“Again hitting with the hard-core truths. Potter, please, let’s not make this into a big deal. Please give it a rest.”

“But-“

“Look,” Malfoy cut him off, and there was definite anger in his eyes now. “I made a stupid attempt, you said no, it's over. Can we now please put this behind us, or are you going to be freaking out about it for much longer? Because if you are, I still have a two-feet long essay about blocking curses that needs attending, and you can go ahead and rave on your own.”

Harry swallowed, closed his eyes and then opened again. “No, I think I’m about done.”

Malfoy released a long sigh and the beginning of a smile curved the edges of his lips. “Good. It was getting a little hectic in that mind of yours. With all this unusual activity in there, I was starting to get worried.”

“Hey! Just so you know, I’ve already finished _my_ essay.”

“Right. And how much of it did you copy off of Granger?”

“Er…”

“My point exactly.” Malfoy seemed to relax again on the sofa, and he brought his feet up on the table. “I can’t believe she actually lets you cheat.”

“She doesn’t really,” Harry twiddled his thumbs, feeling the heat still in his face. “She just agrees to check our work. But then she fixes it all up, and it’s like she’s doing it herself anyway.”

“Very clever, deceiving the smartest witch in our year. I wouldn’t have believed you could do it.”

“I’m so going to tell her you called her that. She’s going to think you’ve completely lost your mind. Maybe then she’d start taking this whole thing seriously.” Harry snickered.

“I mean, I’ve only stated the obvious,” Malfoy said, but his cheeks were coloring up again.

“I think it’s probably big enough to be on the papers. ‘Draco Malfoy admits: A Muggle-born is the best witch in school year. Official investigation commences.’ The press will go wild.”

“I didn’t say best witch, I said smartest.”

“Ah, you know how the media is, always making stuff up and making a right mess of everything. You’ve helped it blow things out of proportions a few times yourself, if I recall correctly.” Harry made a gesture as if to clap the boy next to him on the shoulder, but changed his mind halfway through and sent his hand to his own hair instead, ruffling it up. Malfoy gave him an amused grin.

“Yes, back in the merry days of hating you. Gods, my life was so much easier back then. Everything was so clear and safe.”

“So you don’t hate me anymore?” Harry asked softly, and for some unknown reason his heart was almost leaping inside his chest. He was a little breathless.

“I don’t detest you _completely_. Not in the loathe-the-very-air-you-breathe sort of way anymore. Now it’s just a can’t-stand-the-prat type of thing.”

“Is that why you tried to kiss me?” Harry smirked, and Malfoy shot him a dark look.

“Oh shut up already, Potter. It’s not like you didn’t kiss me back. And I thought you said you were done losing your shit over it?”

“Okay, okay, calm down…” Harry’s smile widened the more uncomfortable the boy seemed to be. “It’s fine, Malfoy. I don’t hate you either. Just strongly dislike you, which is by far a huge improvement.”

“Such a tease,” Malfoy mumbled, but he looked a little calmer. Harry had a very funny sensation in his stomach.

“So anyway, Malfoy…” he felt like if he stayed another minute longer, he might say or do something he’d sorely regret. Although he had no idea what it could be, the idea scared him half to death. “I think we should probably call it a night. I – er – I’m sure we both could use some sleep.”

Malfoy sighed and gave him a good look. “You’ve not been sleeping either? What’s bothering you?”

Harry shrugged. “You know. Things. Nothing important.” Did he imagine it, or did the blond seem disappointed? “So I’ll see you next week?”

“Yes sir,” he answered, a rather unamused smirk on his face. “Whenever you’d command me to arrive and report.”

“Come on, Malfoy, don’t make it out like that…” Harry scratched the back of his head uncomfortably. “I don’t want you to feel like I’m forcing you into anything. You’re still as free as you were before, just… just Dumbledore wants us to meet for some reason.”

“Right, he does,” Malfoy said with a pensive air. “For some reason.” He seemed like he could think of nothing more to say.

“Well then, good night,” Harry said with an attempt to sound casual. “You’d let me know when you’re available for next week?”

The boy nodded and got to his feet. “Of course. I’ll be in touch.” He was already at the door when he turned around and gave Harry a very uncomfortable look. “Thanks again, Potter.” He left before Harry had a chance to reply.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a little bit of violence here. Oh, and more tears. The boys generally get closer.

Harry couldn’t sleep that night, but it wasn’t for the normal reasons. At least, not entirely due to them. Sirius’s face still showed up as soon as he closed his eyes, but it didn’t remain for as long as usual. Other faces blurred in his mind as always, but he found one in particular that kept returning to center and front stage. A pale, sharp face, with platinum blond hair and silver eyes. He saw the light smirk, and then that damn smile. It made his belly do a strange sort of dance, like it was filled with squirming caterpillars. And then his heart was feeling so much more… Harry paused to think about it. Light. He felt lighter.

He sighed and zoomed in on the image of the boy in his mind. His internal gaze lingered over the soft hands, the body he held on the sofa tonight. The memory of the bare skin under his fingers. But then he was feeling way too hot all of a sudden, and he had to breathe in and out a few times to cool himself down. His mind raced back to where he left off; Malfoy’s shirtless body in front of him, and his hand tracing the scars on the otherwise smooth, pale skin. Malfoy shivering in his arms, his head buried in Harry’s collar, that blond hair stuffing his nose and choking him. That lemony smell he has, and how soft his lips were when they brushed against Harry’s –

Now he was definitely too warm. With a light groan he took off his shirt and yanked the covers away. He was actually sweating, and felt sticky and uncomfortable all over. And when he closed his eyes, it was like resuming a paused movie; there was Malfoy again, way too close, leaning in for a kiss. For a moment Harry surrendered and just let the memory play out; Malfoy pressed against him, pulling his neck forward, chest flush against his… but then the memory changed, and Harry had no idea where it was coming from, because he _certainly_ never took off his shirt and the other boy _definitely_ did not take off his trousers-

Alarmed and more than a little uncomfortable, Harry opened his eyes and bolted into a sitting position. Damn, he thought as he looked down at his fully erect cock. Damn, damn, damn.

He sank back into bed, rubbing his eyes and fighting against a scream. He was bloody attracted to Draco bloody Malfoy. but what did that mean? Did it mean – could it mean – was he gay? He remembered the other boy’s words; ‘I am sixteen; I’m attracted to anything with a pulse.’ Is this what’s happening? Or did it have a deeper, more permanent implication?

And in any case, gay or not gay, he was thinking about bloody Malfoy. This was way, way worse than bad. This was terrible.

He rolled over and hoped he would somehow simply die in his sleep.

***

The next morning when he saw the blond at breakfast, Harry felt an almost electrical shock going through him. He immediately averted his gaze, rattled, but the effect hadn’t worn off. He was hot, he was excited, he was… so, so confused. Harry almost crashed onto the bench, not looking anyone in the eye and refusing to eat. He had a problem, he was beginning to realize. A huge problem. A Draco Malfoy sized problem. He was absolutely cornered; those weird hot flashes he started experiencing whenever thinking of the boy did not get him off his guard duty. For the love of god, it was still _Malfoy_ , and he trusted him only as far as he could throw him. But the thought of grabbing the slender figure in his arms in order to do so was stirring, so he let it go immediately. Miserable, he stared at the Slytherin table and at the one face in particular that wasn’t looking at him. How was he meant to keep an eye on him, when he couldn’t even bear to look?

It became quite difficult indeed to keep his distance from him. They had so many lessons together, but there were too many eyes around, and Malfoy ignored him completely when they were with others. Harry knew why, and he tried, honestly, but it was like something was wrong with gravity. He found himself almost pulled towards the blond whenever he was in his vicinity, even though he couldn’t speak to him. Ron was practically losing his mind when Harry wouldn’t tell him what’s wrong, and Hermione probably had her suspicions, but what could he possibly tell them? That he was attracted to Malfoy? That he wanted to push him into the wall right here and now and snog the daylight out of him?

 _Focus_ , he told himself, shaking fervently. _Focus now, Harry_. This is not going to happen, it can’t happen. And besides, he couldn’t ethically do it. He had a duty to Malfoy, to help him and protect him. Also there was this little part where he was meant to keep an eye on him. And for goodness sake, he was a bloody boy! Harry had never been so confused in his life.

On Sunday he had come unto his worst trial yet. It all happened very quickly, but it left his mind reeling and a sort of hollow, cold pain in his gut. The worst part was that he couldn’t do anything about it.

He was just leaving the Great Hall with Ron and Hermione when he came across the scene. Goyle had Malfoy pushed against the wall, a wand shoved right into his face, while Crabbe stood beside them with his wand at the ready. Harry started walking towards them instinctively, disregarding the urgent whispers from his two friends, pulling his wand as he got nearer. It was only when he was close enough to see Malfoy, and the boy gave him a frightened little shake of the head, that he remembered himself and lowered his wand. How weird would it seem if Harry Potter came to Malfoy’s aid? Even Crabbe and Goyle would be suspicious. So he changed his direction and made it look like he was just passing next to them, but the second he went over the corner he stopped and looked back.

It happened right as he turned; Goyle gave up the notion of the wand and just punched the blond square in the face. Harry could hear even from this distance the bone breaking, and he saw the dark blood pouring immediately from where he was hit. Goyle grabbed him by the collar and threw him hard on the ground, pointing his wand at him again, and Harry had to push his fist into his mouth so as not to scream. There was a dull, high-pitched cry in his ears that drove him insane, and it took all of his strength not to run towards them and curse them to pieces.

Then it was over, and the two blocks of flesh turned and left. Harry watched as Malfoy pulled himself up slowly, two hands holding his nose, and dragged himself into the nearest loo. Harry waited exactly three seconds before he barged right in there after him.

He was startled when Harry came in, perhaps thinking it was his former-friends, back for more. His shoulders dropped and he sighed when he saw who it was, returning his glance to his own image in the mirror.

“What the hell was that, Malfoy?” Harry asked maybe a little too harshly. The anger he felt when standing there helpless and watching Malfoy get beaten was still a little too burning to speak calmly. He grabbed the boy by the shoulders and turned him so he was facing Harry, who took in the horrifying sight of too much blood on the way-too-pale face.

“I’m not exactly sure. I think it was a warning, but the pillocks forgot to actually deliver the message.” It was a little hard to understand him past both his hands and all the blood. Harry frowned.

“Let me see, Malfoy, I can’t bloody fix it when you’re holding it like this.” With an amused twinkle in his eyes, Malfoy pulled his hands away and left them up in the air in a gesture of surrender. The blood was pouring thick and fast from his nose. Harry cleared his throat. One of his hands was still on the boy’s shoulder, the other brought up the wand. “Episky,” he said, and immediately the misshapen nose straightened itself. “Evanesco.” The blood cleared and Harry let go, leaving a very pale Malfoy to turn around and look at his reflection.

“Thanks, Potter. I was worried I might get a permanent scar or something. I don’t know if I could have made it to Madam Pomfrey quick enough.”

“Malfoy, why did they do this?” he was having a very hard time trying to stop the angry shaking of his body. He wanted nothing better than to run after the two and curse their heads off. The thought that he couldn’t do it was infuriating.

Malfoy shrugged, looking at him through the mirror. “They only got me because I don’t have my wand, they’d never be fast enough otherwise. And I already told you, I think it was meant to be a warning. I suppose I will receive the rest of it tonight, when they remember.”

“The rest of it? Are you saying they’re going to – “ he was too enraged to keep on.

“I don’t know. It won’t be anything too bad, though, so you can calm down now.” Malfoy brought a tentative hand up and felt his newly restored nose. “Good job with the recovery spell. Didn’t think you had it in you.”

“Malfoy, this can’t carry on this way. You can’t let them – Merlin’s balls! You have to talk to Snape, you have to get your wand back at all times. I can’t promise you I’d be able to do nothing if I see it happening again.”

“You’d have to,” Malfoy said, a warning sneaking into his tone. “Potter, you did very well to stand back, and you would have to do it again if it ever occurred. Do you understand me?” he turned around and stared at him hard. “You absolutely can’t do anything until my mother is out safe. Am I being clear?”

Harry nodded, choked up and embarrassed, but his eyes were still burning. “Once she is, Malfoy, I’m going to bloody get them. I’m going to make them regret it.”

“You’d have to beat me to it,” the blond smiled. Harry could see him visibly relax. “Anyway, I better go before anyone starts suspecting anything. Thanks again, Potter, my hero.” He rolled his eyes, but he was still smiling. Harry watched him leave with a weird mixture of relief, sadness and anger. He wanted Malfoy to come back, he wanted to hold him in his arms and make sure nothing happens to him ever again. And he wanted to run away from him to the other side of the castle and never, ever see him again. Merlin, this was getting too hard. He sank onto the bathroom floor, head in his hands, drowning in his thoughts. He couldn’t stay away from the Slytherin, that much was clear. He had his mission, and for the record, he didn’t know if he’d be able to step away even without it. So the only other option was to keep going, and to do his best to not think about him in… that way.

He couldn’t wait till their next appointment; he left a message to Malfoy with a first year Slytherin to meet him in the Room of Requirement that very night. he had to make sure he was okay. Thoughts of Malfoy tormented him all through the day, and it was not without some struggle that he found himself walking towards the seventh floor at a late hour. Malfoy was already there, and to Harry’s great relief he didn’t seem any more injured than in the morning.

“How are you?” he asked a little stiffly as he sat on his sofa next to the boy. “Did they – er – try anything else?”

Malfoy gave him an amused look. “I’m fine, Potter, you can calm down. They didn’t beat me up again, although they did remember they have something for me. It was a letter from my dear aunt, reminding me to behave and urging me to speed up. She apparently handed it to them with the hope they can smack some sense into me.”

Harry shook his head, outraged. “Your aunt is a real piece of work, Malfoy. I bloody hate her.”

“I know,” Malfoy shrugged, a little uneasily. “She was never really a part of my life, having been sent to Azkaban when I was so young. But ever since she returned it’s been – well, not exactly a pleasure to get to know her. I think my mother has had quite a shock to see what became of her sister.”

“My mum would have been appalled at her own sister too, I guess,” Harry admitted a little bitterly. “I think, at least. I have no idea what their relationship would have been like. I can’t really imagine them getting along, anyway.”

The blond gave him a look that was a little wistful. “I don’t suppose you know much about your parents, Potter?’”

Harry shook his head, his throat feeling a little tight all of a sudden. But Malfoy seemed more vulnerable than his usual self, and Harry really wanted to reciprocate the favor. “No, not much. I grew up completely separated from anything having to do with them, and there was no one ever really to ask. I got a photo album of theirs as a present once from Hagrid. I’ve never had pictures of them before.” It was very odd to be saying so much; speaking about his parents was something he very rarely did. Malfoy gave him a sympathetic look, and Harry was only a little stunned, which was on its own perplexing. To think that he’d come to expect _sympathy_ from Draco Malfoy was unbelievable.

“I’m sorry, Potter. That sounds pretty rough. Have you been able to get much information from others? People who were their friends?” There was something hot and large in his throat, and Harry swallowed roughly around it.  
“Not a lot,” was all he said, and the blond nodded. He took a deep breath.

“Sometimes it is better not to know, I guess,” Malfoy said in a surprisingly dark tone. Harry winced a little as he watched his pale face contracting. “There are some things about my parents I would have preferred not to have known.”

“Like what?” Harry was genuinely curious. He never heard Malfoy speak ill of his father, whom he assumed he meant.

“Just… things.” He gave him a bashful look. “I don’t really want to talk about it, if that’s all right.”

Harry nodded quickly. “Of course. You don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to. I probably wouldn’t want to talk about my uncle and aunt so much, either.”

“You really hate them, don’t you?” Malfoy sounded a little surprised. “I never would have thought the great Harry Potter had it in his heart to hate anyone.”

“I don’t hate them,” he said, a little uncomfortable. “I just… let’s put it this way; if Voldemort kidnapped them to try and get to me, I’m not sure if I’d go so quickly to rescue them.” He had thought of this before, and the question remained unanswered. He hoped he would never have to answer it. the very possibility shook him.

“Wow, that’s intense, coming from you.” Malfoy’s face was very serious. “Also, a pretty bizarre way of scaling how much you like or dislike someone, to be honest.”

Harry laughed, and the tightness in his chest seemed to have lessened somewhat. “Oh, you didn’t know that’s how we do it in Gryffindor? Yeah, always ask yourself the question; how willing you’d be to extract them from the frozen grip of death.”

“You Gryffindors sure are a weird lot,” Malfoy retorted rather distractedly. “We in Slytherin could never use that test; I’m certain no one would stick their own neck to go and save anyone else’s.” He seemed a little sad about it, Harry realized with a start.

“I’m sure that’s not true. Just because someone’s ambitious, it doesn’t mean they wouldn’t be brave, or wouldn’t do things for the ones they loved. Although the Slytherin method of search and rescue would probably be a lot different to ours.”

“As in, it would have a shred of forward thinking and less chancing impending doom?”

“Yeah, something like that.” Malfoy’s face seemed a little lighter, and Harry could smile again. “You took a chance for your mother, and you’re in Slytherin.”

“Yes…” Malfoy bit his lip, eyes averting to the fire. “I suppose I did.”

“Malfoy,” Harry said, looking closely at the blond. “I’m just – I never told you that, but I think what you’re doing is really brave. Honestly.”

The grey eyes returned to him slowly, painfully. “Do you really have to rub salt in the wound, Potter?”

“No, I really mean it. I know it can’t be easy to stand up to Voldemort. Not many people have tried to do that.”

“Not many people that lived, anyway,” Malfoy mumbled from the corner of his mouth. Harry’s gut wrenched.

“Yeah, but you’re going to actually do it, and you’re going to be just fine. And maybe you won’t have to come to the Dursley’s with me; my godfather left me a house, it’s pretty well protected, and you could stay there if you wanted. Maybe I could go there with you over the summer. God knows it will be a million times better than spending another miserable summer stuck face down on the bed at Privet Drive.”

“Stuck on the bed, face down? Were they really that terrible?” Malfoy’s voice was very soft, it made Harry shiver.

“Well, it wasn’t exactly because of them this time. It was more of a… me thing. I wasn’t really in a mood to tolerate anyone, especially not my horrid relatives.”

“So what did you do on the bed for two months?” the gentleness sounded weird coming out of Malfoy’s mouth. Harry debated with himself for a minute.

“Just thinking, I guess. And being angry. Very, very angry.”

“Angry with whom?”

“Many people… No one… I don’t really know. Voldemort, of course. Your aunt, actually, too. Dumbledore, sometimes. And Snape.”

“Snape? Really?” the surprise didn’t sound exactly candid. “I mean, I have seen the way you look at him; you’ve always despised him, far worse than you ever did me. Why do you hate him so much? It’s not like he takes your wand every evening.” He sounded quite bitter.

“He has been a complete jerk to me for five years in a row, so there’s that. Also the fact he’s a Death Eater and I don’t understand how Dumbledore can trust him. And then there’s… something else as well.”

“What? Don’t be shy now. Speaking ill of the man is most of my reason for existing nowadays.”

“He’s just been a… real prat towards someone I care about. And it’s kind of made him make a bad decision, and, well… it ended badly.”

Malfoy swallowed. “Are you talking about Black?” Harry looked at him for a second, then nodded. That lump in his throat grew bigger somehow, or rougher, and it was becoming a struggle to breathe. He sensed the boy next to him getting closer, and then Malfoy’s hand was on his arm. “I’m sorry, Potter. I know I’ve been a right twit about him before, but I am sorry. I know he was important to you.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, trying very hard to keep those stubborn tears inside. “Thanks.” For a moment he wanted to say more, to talk about Sirius, explain to the blond what he really meant to him, but he just couldn’t. he cleared his throat, but that block was still there.

“I know it can be hard to lose someone you love,” Malfoy added in a low voice. “Well I don’t really – I mean, I’ve never actually – I didn’t – but I can imagine how it would feel. I do imagine it, every day. I’m truly sorry.”

The pain in Malfoy’s voice seemed to have unlocked something inside Harry’s chest. “He was my godfather, you know,” Harry managed to say in a strangled sort of voice. “He was my dad’s best mate. He’s helped me through so much in the past two years, I really don’t know where I would’ve been without him. And then he was just… gone.”

“I’m sorry, Potter. That’s really rough.”

“It was too good anyway, having him for these two years. I never get to have something like that. Something so… comforting.” Harry’s eyesight became rather blurry, but he refused to admit the tears. “It’s just not for me.”

“It shouldn’t be like that. You should be allowed a parent figure in your life. It’s terrible he was taken from you as well, after such a short time.”

“He was so good,” Harry said suddenly, and was horrified to hear his voice breaking. “He was so smart and kind and he bloody cared about me, Malfoy. he was…” he could only really whisper now, but he had to carry on: “He was the only one I could write to…”

“Write to?” Malfoy placed a warm hand on his thigh, but Harry could not bring himself to look at him. He drew strength from his touch, his shoulders slouching, his breath hitching.

“Yeah, write to. I never had anyone – an adult who could give me advice, who actually cared. Someone I could trust. And then I just met him and he was in so much pain – and he was stuck there, and I didn’t do anything, I never even tried to speak to Dumbledore about it.” he buried his face in his palms, shaking slightly. “I wanted to tell him so bad, and I never got the chance.”

“What did you want to say to him?” Malfoy’s voice could have been a figment of his imagination, it was so uncharacteristically soft.

“So much! I wanted to tell him Snape’s a bloody idiot, and that he’s the bravest man I ever knew. And that he’s so important to me, and how much I want to – how I want to – “ it was too much; he could not continue. “But now he’s gone, and I can’t tell him anything, and it was all my fault.”

“What? Potter, it wasn’t your fault.”

“It was. I was the one who fell for Voldemort’s trap, I was the reason he came there. And then I couldn’t do anything when he and Lestrange were fighting and then he…” his voice trailed off and he was full on crying now, rocking back and forth on the soft cushions. “It was my fault he died, all my fault…” he felt Malfoy’s arms wrapping around him and he nearly jumped into his embrace, pulling at his shirt, shaking with sobs of grief and rage. And it was the first time since the summer that he let himself feel all of that, all that anger, not at Snape or Dumbledore or Malfoy or Lestrange, but at himself, the real culprit… the anger he was running away from for so long, the rage he was denying, now flooded over him and threatened to overflow…

The arms around him tightened, and he felt like he can’t breathe, but also like he was breathing again, maybe for the first time in forever. He sobbed and buried his face in the boy’s chest, gasping for air, nearly screaming with pain. Malfoy said nothing; he just held on to him, keeping him still in one piece, not letting him fall and shatter. Harry let wave after wave of that burning, acidic pain run through him, and he heaved it out in loud cries, grabbing the boy even tighter, until he felt he could take it no more and just fell onto him, body loose, face landing in his lap, and Malfoy stroked his hair softly until Harry could stop shaking and opened his eyes.

It was the weirdest feeling in the world, and as he regained his senses he slowly fell into acute disbelief. He couldn’t possibly be lying on a couch, his head in Draco Malfoy’s lap, while the boy was stroking his hair. It just couldn’t be happening. And the improbability of it calmed him down, so he gave a sigh and sat back up.

“I’m sorry,” he said in a low voice, not daring to look at the Slytherin. If he didn’t look his way, maybe it will all have been a dream. Maybe the blond will cease to exist. But he heard the little groan, heard the movement at his side, and he knew he couldn’t ignore it for much longer.

“Don’t worry about it, Potter. It’s fine. I think you needed to let some of that go; I’ve seen it trapped inside you since the beginning of the year.”

Harry took a tentative glance in his direction. Malfoy was looking right at him, not a spark of irony or amusement on his face, just genuine – what? What was it? Empathy? Concern? He shuddered. “You’ve been watching me quite closely, then?”

“Yes. I didn’t really have a choice – you were holding my future in your hands. Potter, listen…” Malfoy sighed. “It’s okay to have all these feelings. You don’t need to bottle everything up inside and then collapse like that. It can’t be healthy for you.”

“It’s not like that. I think I just…” Harry laid his head back on the sofa. After Malfoy had seen him like that, was there really room for shame anymore? He might as well just tell him. “I’ve been so busy in blaming everyone and being so angry, so I don’t have to think about my own part in it.”

“You have to understand it’s not your fault. It was the Dark Lord, all of it. Well, maybe my aunt had a little to do with the whole matter too, but…” he shook his head. “You can’t take the responsibility for his actions, Potter. You’re better than that.”

“I know, I know that. And your aunt… Malfoy, I think if I ever see her again, I will kill her.” He never thought his voice could be so cold. He imagined he could feel the boy next to him tremble a little.

“I understand,” he said, and that was all. Harry was worn out; the idea of eventually having to get up and make his way back to his dorm seemed unreal. “God, I don’t know what it is about this room, but it is the absolute worse. Every time we come here someone ends up in tears. Bloody unbelievable.”

Harry would have laughed if he wasn’t completely drained of energy. “Right, it’s the room. Not our crappy lives or the very heavy emotional baggage we carry.”

“Exactly. I think we should do something about this. Maybe bring an exorcist, clear the air a little in here.”

Now he did chuckle a little. “All right, Malfoy, I think we should call it a night. I don’t think I can take another total emotional breakdown like that. I’ll see you next week?”

“Yes, Potter. Next week. Maybe I’d let you arrive first; I don’t think the atmosphere I create when I do is very constructive.” He sounded so much more at ease now than he had the rest of the night. Harry looked at him and caught his light smile. A real smile. A smile that made him squirm a little inside, though he didn’t really know why.

Harry rubbed his eyes and got up. “Till next week then, you big prat.”

“Till then, twat.”

It was probably the lightest feeling Harry had left the room with in a while.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry is... falling... for Malfoy? What? Where the hell did that come from?

Harry was giddy for the rest of the week, inexplicably and irrevocably so. Opening up to Malfoy like that, with things he had barely been able to admit to his very self, was startling. He could never have imagined sharing this information, this pain, with anyone. Let alone a boy in his year. Let alone Malfoy. He tried to avoid his gaze in class, although his effort was probably futile, since Malfoy completely ignored him around others anyway. Still, whenever Harry caught his glance, he thought he saw something different glimmering in his eyes. Something softer. So when Wednesday came by and he walked towards the seventh floor again, he really didn’t know what to do with himself. His palms were sweaty, his shirt itchy, and he had the general sense like he was walking into battlefield. He opened the door to the Room of Requirement with his eyes closed, and forced himself to push through.

As he expected, Malfoy was already there, sitting on Harry’s sofa again. But when he looked at Harry, he seemed – Harry felt his chest doing this weird expansion thing. He seemed happy. Like he was happy to see Harry. Everything about his demeanor said he was relaxed; he sat with his legs up, feet on the table, hands resting at his sides leisurely. And Harry knew what had changed; ever since Malfoy saw him break apart completely, he no longer felt like Harry had the upper hand. He wasn’t ashamed of him anymore. He felt… safe around him.

And it made Harry feel so fucking good, he forgot about everything else and just beamed at him. Malfoy smiled back, and this fluttering feeling in his chest returned, but he was way too happy to care. He sat down next to the blond and looked at him.

“Boy, are we cheerful today,” Malfoy smirked, but his grey eyes were full of light. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” Harry said as his cheeks turned crimson. “I’m just glad it’s almost the weekend.”

“It’s Wednesday, Potter. Only the middle of the week.”

“Yeah, so we’re that much closer to the end of it.” Harry grinned, and Malfoy’s smirk widened to a real smile. “How are you, Malfoy?”

“I’m fine. No evil thoughts or dark deeds. No intention to revert back to old bad ways. Humbly surrendering myself at your mercy.” He tilted his head to the side and looked at Harry more closely. “No, I think something has definitely happened. You look almost frivolous. What is it?”

“Nothing, and I’m not, it’s just really hot in here. Shut up about that already.” Harry stretched his legs, feeling weirdly uncomfortable. “God, it really is hot in here.” He was becoming aware of the fact his body seemed to want to get closer to Malfoy. He fought it hard. 

Malfoy chuckled. “You are literally blushing. Is there anything you want to tell me, Potter?”

“N-no,” Harry murmured, glancing at him then quickly reverting his gaze to the fire. “Nothing. Just a normal day of secretly conniving with you.”

“Ah, the good old secretive ways of collusion. Can turn any frown upside down.” Harry quirked his brow, amused. 

“That was such a Slytherin thing to say. It figures that you’d be good at hiding and lying all around. Do they have special courses to teach you these things in Slytherin?”

“Of course.” The blond didn’t bat an eyelash. “We take them when you have the ‘Head straight into danger with no inkling of a plan’ lessons in Gryffindor. I heard they are a real hit.”

“Oh yes, they’re my favorites. The one lesson where I don’t have to work hard to get a good grade.” They both laughed, but Malfoy sobered first.

“You don’t seem to be working so hard in Defence class, either. You are a natural at these things. I used to think you only got good grades because of your name, but even I have to admit it. You’re good.”

Harry felt even redder than before. “Thanks, Malfoy. That’s –“ he wasn’t sure how to continue. Unexpected? Nice? “You’re pretty good at Potions, actually. I thought you only get good grades because Snape is a prick.” Malfoy sniggered, but there wasn’t much humor in it. Harry’s tone hardened when he asked, “Has Snape been bothering you? Or - the others?”

“Not more than usual,” Malfoy shrugged. “Crabbe and Goyle are pretty quiet again now. It doesn’t seem as fun for them anymore now that I’m not injured. Those bastards really liked to watch me squirm.”

“Have I mentioned before what horrible, horrible people you chose to surround yourself with?”

“I think you have, yes, once or twice. It was stronger than me, though, you know. Family trait.” He gave an involuntary little wince. “I got a letter this week,” he said in a very by-the-way tone. Harry wasn’t fooled. 

“Really? who from? your mum?”

“No…” Malfoy took a deep breath, then raised his glance to look straight in Harry’s eyes. “It was from my father, actually. Another one.”

He could feel himself tensing up, breath coming in a little shallower. He swallowed. “What did he want?”

“It seems like he got in touch with the Dark Lord. he urged me to get my task done with so that I could finally return to where I belong. He mentioned my dear aunt should drop by soon at the manor to make sure my mother is doing all right by herself. Such a tired, worn threat, I was rather embarrassed.”

Harry bit his lip at the mention of Bellatrix. “You think he’s lying? She won’t come?”

“Oh no, I’m pretty sure she will. It’s just the notion that my father thinks it’s any news to me that had me confused.”

“I see. Was she, er, visiting often during the summer?” he tried to keep his voice casual, but was unsure if he’s doing a good job. His hands were already up in fists on either side of him. 

“Not so often, but whenever the Dark Lord arrived, she was there. She would do some of his dirty work for him.”

“Dirty work?” Harry saw the hard glimmer in the grey eyes as Malfoy’s body shivered slightly.

“Yes. Torturing, killing, you know, dirty work. The Dark Lord very rarely gets his own hands dirty. Only when he is very angry indeed, or… when he has a special message to deliver.”

Harry was a little startled by the darkness in his voice. He looked at him closely. “Malfoy, did she torture you? That time you told me Voldemort questioned you? Is that where you got all those burns and cuts?”

“What?” Malfoy looked stunned for a second, then quickly brought himself back. “No, not really. He did it pretty much by himself that night; she wouldn’t normally attack me. I mean occasionally she would throw the odd curse my way, but I owe most of my mistreatment over the summer to Greyback. And a little bit to the Dark Lord too, yes.”

“Did Greyback burn you?” Harry asked in his softest, most careful voice. “Or was it Voldemort?”

“No, that’s not really neither of their styles. Greyback’s more of a rip-you-from-limb-to-limb kind of guy, and the Dark Lord doesn’t need anything but the Cruciatus curse.” The cold, casual tone wasn’t working on Harry. 

“So where did you get those burns?”

Malfoy sighed. “You just don’t know when to give up, do you, Potter?”

“Sorry. We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. I just… I was curious, that’s all.” He hated seeing Malfoy like this, especially after how happy he was when Harry just came in. _is this the effect I have on him_? Harry asked himself miserably. _Am I only able to talk about the worst things that ever happened to him?_

“Don’t give me that look, Potter, I can’t stand when you’re all miserable like that. Look, I know you must have a lot of questions, and I’m sorry I can’t give you more answers. It just hurts a little too much to talk about. It’s not because of you.” He never would have expected such an honest answer from Malfoy. “Even though you still remain a total buzzkill.”

Harry gave an incredulous little laugh. “Me, a buzzkill? Malfoy, the party doesn’t start until I walk in.”

“Right, those crazy parties you are so well known for.” He seemed thankful for the change of subject. “I remember all the times I never heard of them.”

“You bet your sweet arse.” He felt the red in his cheeks grow a shade darker when he mentioned the boy’s rear end, but it didn’t seem like the Slytherin noticed. “Anyway, since when can you not stand to see me looking miserable? There was a time I thought that was all you cared for in the world.”

“Oh yes. I used to hold your miserable expressions very dear. My absolute favorite was the ‘but-I-really-didn’t-do-it’ face, you wore it quite often second year. And last year too, when everyone thought you were full of it with your stories of the Dark Lord.”

“But you knew I was telling the truth,” Harry said quietly. Malfoy wasn’t looking at him now; his gaze was transfixed on the fire. 

“Yes, I knew. But I wasn’t going to go around telling anyone that, couldn’t have them asking me how I know. Or thinking that I was on your side, God forbid. Would have destroyed my entire reputation.”

“And what would you call this?” Harry asked, pointing at the two of them. Malfoy shrugged again. 

“I don’t know. Irony. Fate. A fucking slap in the face. A natural continuation of my ongoing humiliation.”

“Malfoy, this isn’t… I mean, I’m not doing this to humiliate you. You know that. I – “ it was unbelievably hard to say it, but he plucked on all his courage and continued – “I care about you.”

“Potter, please. You can’t lie to save your life. You know full well you don’t care about _me_ , you just want to save the bloody helpless. And you want to do something to distract you from the Dark Lord. This has nothing to do with me.” He still did not look at him. Did he really sound a little forlorn, or was it just Harry’s overactive mind?

“Well it might have been like that at first, but…” he shook his head. “It’s not just that anymore. I do care about you, Malfoy, you personally. When I saw you on Sunday – fuck, I was so angry, I could have burned. I wanted to kill them. Actually kill them.”

“Again, because you saw them hurt me. I assure you, it’s only your love of the helpless, your need to be the hero. It’s all you, Potter, it’s not related to me. You hate me, remember? Sorry; strongly dislike.”

“No, it’s not, and you know it. Come on, you know I don’t dislike you anymore. You’re not that dense not to notice that. I may have been trying to fight it, and it may still make me feel very uncomfortable, but I do care about you now.” Harry gave him a pleading look. He was very tense all of a sudden, as if the next words Malfoy would say might determine his destiny. Malfoy’s eyes slowly found their way to his.

“Do you really mean it? Or are you saying that just because I’m hurting? Do you really – I mean, is this not just you trying to save me?” he spoke very softly, and very quickly. His cheeks were quite pink. Harry hated just how cute he found that. 

“No. it’s not just that anymore. It’s not been just that for a while now.” He didn’t know why, but saying these words was like unloading a heavy burden off his chest, like making a confession. He’d spoken to Ron and Hermione about it, maybe not in so many words, but he was sure they knew. But telling Malfoy… it was something different altogether. He was very nervous now, and sweaty and itchy all over again. 

“Well, I – I mean, I don’t dislike you, either.” Malfoy’s flush darkened, and Harry felt his own confidence soaring. he took a deep, relieved breath and braved a smile.

“Just admit it already, Malfoy. You like me. You like me a little too much, even.”

It was so good to see the blond shift uncomfortably, all flushed and embarrassed. “I wouldn’t go that far. But I – fuck it, Potter, fine, you big softie. I care about you too. All right? Are you satisfied now?”

Harry’s smile only grew wider. “Not really. I want to hear all about it. How you dream about me at night, kiss my photograph every time you go to bed. You probably have a poster of my face on your bedroom wall at the manor.”

“You are unbelievable, Potter, you utter twat. A psychopath. Raving mad.”

“Come on, Malfoy, Dumbledore said you have to do what I say. Now tell me just how much you like me like a good boy.”

“You sick bastard,” Malfoy shook his head, eyes closing. 

“Oh no, that’s not nearly good enough. Come on, just say it. Say it loud and clear for the world to hear. You can shout it from the rooftops if you’d like. Just say it already.” His eyes were glowing with amusement, although the Slytherin looked like he was physically in pain. 

“I – “ he started but broke off quickly, shaking his head, eyes flaring up at Harry. “You are such a prick, did you know that, Potter?”

“Heard it before, I think. Now come on, give me what I want, or I won’t have any choice but to threaten you again.” His smile was absolutely diabolical. Malfoy glared at him furiously, then rolled his eyes and let out a heavy sigh. 

“All right. Fine. But you may never play the saint card with me again, Potter. Now I know what you really are, so you can get off your high horse.” He took a deep breath. “I like you, you wanker.”

“Mm, nope, not good enough. Try again, but without the insults.” It was weirdly exhilarating, making the boy so hot and red and writhing. 

“Very well, Potter. I like you. You are an insufferable git, and every second I spend in your presence is torture, but somehow I still like you. And although you are even worse than I had imagined all these years, _I like you_. So go ahead and stuff that in your already way overly-large head, and may you choke to death on it.” He crossed his arms on his chest, breathing heavily, and his eyes were aflame. Harry had the strongest urge to grab him in both hands and just _devour_ him. Instead he laughed and relaxed a little more into the sofa. 

“Fine, I’ll take that. I’m not sure it’s exactly what I asked for, but I’m willing to settle. Was that so difficult, really?”

“YES!” Malfoy nearly shouted, but he seemed relieved. “Hey, you never told me you liked me.”

“What? Sure I did.” Harry’s smile was doing that weird thing again, where it was so large it actually hurt. 

“No, you didn’t. You said you _didn’t dislike_ me, which is by no means an acceptable equivalent. And you said you cared about me, but that wasn’t enough for you, so I demand to get my dignity back.”

Harry laughed, and it seemed like his laughter affected the Slytherin as well, since his arms weren’t clenched so tightly on his abdomen and the look he was giving harry softened. “All right, Malfoy, I’ll admit it. I’m not a scardy cat like you. I like you, because after all these years of giving absolutely zero proof, you turned out to be a somewhat decent person. And it is not torture to spend time with you.”

Malfoy’s face relaxed for a second, but then seemed to recoil in horror. “Gods, Potter, are we – _friends_ now?” he shivered a little. 

Harry scratched his head, thinking hard. “I don’t know, Malfoy. I don’t know if I can be friends with you. I mean, it’s too weird.” He wasn’t sure if the slight shadow in the grey eyes was of disappointment. He soldiered through. “But I guess you could say we are. Wow, who would have thought. I guess Voldemort will come out with a declaration of peace and love any moment now.”

Malfoy laughed, and the sound made Harry’s gut wriggle. “I suppose if us being friends is possible, that should be too. I have to admit I never, ever would have thought this would happen. Not even when – well, never.” He became all flushed again, and Harry had to resist the need to hold him once more. 

“Me too. I guess stranger things than this have happened, but I can’t think of a single one.” He looked at the blond again when he felt like it was safe to do so. Malfoy wasn’t looking at him; he was staring at the fire, looking pretty lost in thought. Harry stared at his sparkling eyes, his shiny hair, the fine lines of his jaw. He felt content, like if he could just stay here for a while, without moving or speaking or doing anything, he could be happy. he didn’t even dare to breathe too deeply, so as not to ruin the moment. It was strange, how natural it felt to be just… so calm with Malfoy. The boy who’d been his rival for all his school life. The one who only three months ago he dreamed of punching. And now… if he was being honest with himself, Harry didn’t know what he wanted with him now. He wanted to protect him, that he knew for sure. And he wanted Malfoy to be happy, wanted to hear him laugh again. Other than that, everything else felt hazy and unclear and disturbing. He just knew he wanted to be around him, whenever he could. And that would have to be enough for now. 

At long last the spell was broken and the moment was gone. Malfoy stretched and gave a bit of a cat-like moan, getting to his feet. “All right, Potter, you big prat. If you’re quite done abusing me for tonight, I think I shall call it. I haven’t been getting too much sleep recently, and I don’t want the idiots to notice I’m gone for too long.” 

Harry raised one eyebrow lazily. “Shut up, Malfoy, you loved it. Let me know when you can meet next week. And Malfoy, please, just – don’t get beaten up again, okay?” he received a weary smile.

“All right, for you. I’ll try to turn off my Malfoy Magic for a shout.”

“Good night, you arse.”

“Good night, tosser. Maybe if you tried hard enough, you'd get to see this arse in your dreams.” His smile was very intentionally provoking, and took Harry by complete surprise. 

Harry covered his eyes with one hand and tried to calm down his suddenly very awake body.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A heartfelt conversation under the moonlight, some light freaking out, and a supportive Hermione. Need much more than that?

Harry put down his quill and rubbed his eyes. He was so tired, the words on the parchment in front of him started to blur together. Lately he had a bit of a problem getting to sleep, as silvery-eyed figures kept taunting him awake. He looked up at the other two working quietly and sighed.

“What is it, Harry?” Hermione asked all business-like, not raising her head from the parchment. “Are you feeling all right?”

“Yes, I’m fine. It’s just… no, never mind. It’s nothing.”

“Is it the sort of nothing that rhymes with… Larfoy?” Ron sniggered. “Not many things rhyme with Malfoy,” he offered apologetically to Hermione’s knitted eyebrows.

“Yes, Harry, is it something to do with him?” she supplied, tearing her gaze from Ron’s red face in amusement.

“Not really. Well, kind of. But it’s more to do with me than with him.”

“What do you mean?” they both looked confused.

“Just that ever since we started – er, spending all this time together…” Harry felt his cheeks burn as he didn’t meet either of their gazes, “I’ve been – I’ve been not as focused on Sirius anymore. I feel like I’ve… I don’t know. Forgot about him, or something.”

Hermione gave him a very sympathetic look. “Harry, of course you haven’t forgotten about him.”

“I used to see his face every night,” he said in a low voice, his eyes trailing the embers in the fireplace. “Whenever I closed my eyes, I’d always think of him. And I’d get this really… hollow sort of feeling inside, like I’m all empty. But now I don’t really feel this way anymore. I mean I’m still super sad when I think about him, but it’s not… so intense. And not so empty. I don’t know.” He buried his head in his hands. “I just feel like I’m not giving him enough.”

“Harry, it’s just time. This is totally normal for what you’ve went through. At first you were just shocked, and then you started processing it, and now you’re… you’re still dealing with it, but of course it’s different. And I think all this scheming with Malfoy is helping you in a way to cope.”

“At first it was really more of an escape,” Harry admitted, his head emerging from his firm hold. “I used Malfoy so I could not think about him, to keep myself distracted. But then after we talked about it I – I don’t know. It’s like he… helps me somehow. To make it hurt less.”

Hermione squeezed his arm so hard it was actually painful. Ron’s eyes were as large as dinner plates, and full of compassion. “We know you really miss him, mate. We’d never think you forgot about him or not cared enough. Never.”

"You deserve it, Harry, to feel like - to have something that helps you. You shouldn't ever feel bad about that, all right?"

Harry tried to smile at them, but his muscles wouldn’t budge. “Thanks, guys. I – it means a lot.” Ron clapped him on the shoulder, and Harry felt himself sinking in the sofa, a little less tense. Out of habit he pulled the Marauder’s map from his pocket and opened it, his eyes traveling automatically to a certain dormitory in the dungeons. But when he didn’t see Malfoy’s name there, a cold dread filled his insides and for a second his eyesight went black.

It couldn’t be. Where else would he go this time of night? Frantically, a little hysterically, his eyes searched the map for any unusual dots. There was Filch, walking across the third floor; Professor Sinistra was in the astronomy tower. But where was… and then, with a huge sigh of relief, he found the name he was looking for in the owlery.

He cleared his throat and got up, the other two looking at him with surprise. “I’m just going out for a bit, be right back,” he promised lightly, but they both sighed and made clear signs of disbelief. They didn’t seem to mind too much, though, so he quickly threw the cloak on his shoulders and walked briskly towards the tower.

It was a very cold night, and little flurries of snow glistened in the half moon. Harry edged slowly when he got nearer, heart beating rather hard, breath a little short. He found the room and walked in softly, attracting many yellowish eyes. The boy he was searching for was sitting on a ledge and staring out the windowless gap. He was shivering with cold.

“Hey,” Harry said softly, but it was still enough to make the blond jump. He turned around quickly, exhaling with relief when Harry took off the cloak and revealed himself. “What are you doing here?”

“Hey, Potter,” Malfoy answered absentmindedly, his eyes returning to the darkness outside. “Fancy meeting you here. Did you use that little map of yours?”

“How did you know about the map?” Harry asked, surprised.

“I didn’t really… but you’ve just confirmed it. You guys mentioned it a few times before, and you seemed to know all about Snape’s whereabouts, so I figured. What kind of a map is it? Does it tell you the location of the person you are seeking?” He didn’t look back at him, but kept his glance on the window.

“Something like that. Well, no, actually… it shows everyone in the area, but it only works for Hogwarts. My father actually made it when he was a student here.”

“Oh. That sounds very complicated. I’d like to see it some time.”

Harry didn’t know how to reply, so he was silent as he walked towards him and leaned on the windowsill. “Aren’t you freezing?”

“I’ve always liked the cold,” Malfoy retorted with a shrug. “And the snow, too. I wanted to see it.” He sounded strangely young, and it was so endearing, Harry struggled not to hug him. Malfoy held out his hand and caught a snowflake, which melted instantly in his palm. “It’s so… pure, and light. It makes everything so beautiful.”

“Do you get a lot of snow where you live?” Harry asked tentatively, leaning closer to him for heat.

“Not really. The occasional snowstorm, but not very often. There was one time when I was about eight, there was a crazy storm all over the south, and we had two and a half feet of snow. I think it may have been the happiest days of my life.” His voice sounded dream-like, airy. For a second, Harry could actually see in his mind’s eye the little blond boy, overcome with excitement and happiness. It was too bloody cute to contemplate.

“It sounds great. I kind of like the snow, too. Although when I was a kid snowstorms were the worst, because they meant being stuck in the house with my aunt and uncle.”

“Were they always so terrible? Your relatives?” Malfoy’s voice was so gentle, it barely carried to him over the howl of the wind.

“Yes, ever since I can remember. They never liked magic, and they hated me for being a wizard. They thought that by making me miserable, they can maybe cure me of it.” Harry spoke lightly, but he knew Malfoy understood he was serious. For a second the silvery eyes found his, and there was empathy in them, empathy and warmth. But then he turned his gaze back outside.

“That sounds terrible. My family wasn’t so great, but at least they could all accept the fact I was a wizard.” He smirked. “Even though I'm fairly certain they would have killed me had I proven to be a Squib. Nothing can hurt the great Malfoy family name.”

He sounded upset, and Harry didn’t know quite how to touch this subject. “Do you think that’s what you’re doing? Hurting the Malfoy family name?”

Malfoy bit his lip. “I know they wouldn’t be too happy with me. But to tell you the truth, Potter, I couldn’t care less. All my life I’ve been brought up to believe the great family name is the most important thing in the world. Well, it’s not. And it took me a lot of time and a lot of pain to learn it, but I did. Everything my father taught me was…” he shook his head, and Harry could read the confusion and hurt in his eyes. “it all means nothing.”

“Well, at least you learned that now. I mean, I never even knew I was a wizard until I was eleven, and I’ve had to learn pretty much everything from the beginning. So you’re starting at sixteen, but you have a head start.”

Malfoy gave a short, hollow laugh. “Absolutely unbelievable, Potter.”

“What is?”

“You are. How you’re so… it’s unbelievable. You grew up with people who mistreated and abused you, not knowing anything about the world to which you belong. And then you got thrown right in the deep end and you were still so… bloody noble. And good. I just can’t understand it, Potter. I don’t know how – I mean, surely my life was far better than yours, and still I’m not even…” he stopped, his eyes widening in confusion. “I’m sorry. I’m rambling. Please forget I said anything.”

Harry took a deep breath. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Malfoy. You didn’t have a good example to follow, and you were taught a few really nasty lies. But you’re seeing it now, and it means something. I see the effort you are making, I see the changes in you. You are good too, Malfoy.”

Malfoy’s shoulders dropped, and he suddenly looked so miserable, it physically shot through Harry’s stomach. “I am not good, Potter. You don’t understand me, you don’t know what I can... I’m not good.” he shook his head. “I’ve accepted it already, a while back, that I wasn’t good. But then you started bloody – never mind. It doesn’t matter.” His grey eyes seemed a little misty.

“Malfoy…” Harry said softly, pressing closer to his body. “Look at me.” It took a heavy second, but then the blond head turned and he stared right at him. Harry took his hand in his, and he could feel that Malfoy’s was almost frozen. “You are good. If you think I’m a good person, then I’d be able to recognize it in others, too. And I see it in you. You are good.” Malfoy sniffled, then gave a little groan, and rested his head on Harry’s shoulder. Without really thinking about it, Harry wrapped his arm around Malfoy’s waist, pulling closer to him. They stayed still in silence for a few moments.

“Tell me more about your childhood,” Malfoy said quietly, and Harry squeezed him a little tighter.

“What do you want to hear about? The time my cousin chased me around till he threw up and tossed me into a trash can? Or the time I hid in a tree from my aunt’s dog for the whole evening?” Malfoy laughed, and Harry could feel the vibrations shaking his own body since they were so close. “There’s more, I have a whole collection to share if you have the time. There’s the one time I released a snake on my cousin on his birthday. My uncle was so angry, he locked me in my cupboard for almost a month.”

“Your cupboard?” Malfoy nearly whispered. Harry chuckled.

“Oh yeah, I never told you, but until I was eleven my bedroom was the cupboard underneath the stairs. Fun place, really. Lots of spiders. I think it’s a part of the reason I am quite good with tight spaces.”

Malfoy let out a low whistle. “Wow, Potter. They really do sound terrible. I’m sorry you had to go through all that.”

“Nah, it’s all right. It would have been a whole of a lot better to grow up with my parents, of course, but aside from that it wasn’t too bad. At least in retrospect. It kind of made me who I am.”

“You really are a marvel, Potter.” Malfoy raised his head and looked at him again. His eyes were glinting with the soft moonlight, and the urge to lean down and kiss him was almost unbearable. “I’m sorry I was so terrible to you all these years. You really didn’t need to get that from me as well. As if your life wasn’t already hard enough.” He sounded so thoroughly sorry, Harry couldn’t stand it.

“No, Malfoy. You made me stronger, better. Also you’ve helped me master those witty comebacks I am so well known for.”

A light smile shone on the pale face, but then disappeared. “Potter, do you forgive me?”

“For what?”

“You know. For being so horrible to you. For all those years of being an evil, selfish prick.” His eyes were larger than the moon in these few seconds when they drilled right into Harry’s soul.

“Yes, Malfoy. I forgive you.” he tried to smile, but his throat was blocked and his airways were tight. “Do you forgive me?”

“For what do I need to forgive you?” Malfoy looked confused.

“I’m sure I gave back as good as I got,” Harry shrugged. “But also… for never giving you the opportunity to show me who you really are.” He was very aware of his hand on the boy’s waist, of how close their bodies were. His cheeks, already pinkish from the wind, grew steadily pinker.

“I forgive you.” He said it simply, honestly. Harry thought his heart never felt so full. They stayed silent for a few more seconds and watched the grounds getting whiter and whiter, the light flurries twisting in the air.

“It really is quite beautiful,” Harry said at long last, and Malfoy rested his head on his shoulder again. He tried to remain very, very still. He had this inexplicable feeling that if they just stayed like this, everything would be okay in the world. It was bitter cold, and he was so very tired, but it was all worth it for those few minutes when they were so close and so comfortable in their proximity. But it couldn’t last forever, and at some point Malfoy moved and pulled a little further from him, looking up to meet his glance.

“I think I’m really starting to freeze,” he said lightly and presented his hands, which were the wrong shade of blue. Harry laughed and pulled his own scarf off his neck, wrapping it around his hands and covering the frozen fingers. Malfoy stared at him with his huge eyes, and Harry was starting to feel a little warmer. “I can’t take that,” he started saying, but Harry shushed him.

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it. My dorm is far closer than yours. Come on, let’s get going, before we would literally stick to this window and freeze to death.” He pulled the boy by his scarf-covered hands, and Malfoy came with him easily, without any resistance.

“Potter, I – “ he gave Harry a sheepish, flushed look. “I’m glad you came tonight.” It was just a little bit too much. Without thinking about it anymore, Harry grabbed Malfoy’s head in both his hands and pulled him forward, their lips meeting halfway, and kissed him gently. It only lasted about a minute; they both kept their eyes open, the grey ones widening with surprise, the green ones full of intense heat. Then Harry closed his eyes, leaned in with all his might, and broke away, taking a step back.

“Good night, Malfoy,” he said breathlessly, and nearly ran down the owlery stairs and all the way back to Gryffindor, not waiting for an answer. And although he was just as confused as before, if not far worse now, he couldn’t keep the smile off his face.

***

The next morning, Malfoy stayed behind in History of Magic class, pretending to be looking for something in his bag. He didn’t look at Harry once, nor gave him any sign at all, but the raven-haired boy knew nevertheless and lingered on, closing the door when everyone had left.

Malfoy got up, still fidgeting with his bag, and slowly came to stand near him. It took him a long moment to raise his eyes to meet Harry’s. He took a deep breath. “Potter, I wanted to talk to you about last night.”

Harry’s stomach tightened; he’d been worried of just that. After that unexpected kiss he could hardly sleep, regardless of how tired he was. The thoughts kept zooming in his head: why had he done it, what does it mean, what is going to happen now. He looked at the blond a little anxiously. “Look, Malfoy, I…” but he had no idea what to say, so he just buried his gaze in the floor.

“I just wanted to… Well… listen, I think there is a lot of – well there’s some – “ Malfoy was so flustered, it seemed like he had no idea what he was saying. “I – fuck it, Potter, look. I’m just so, so confused with everything that’s going on right now. I… I don’t think I can do this at the moment.”

Harry was startled. “Do what?”

“This. Us. I don’t know what that is exactly, either, but… I’m just not in the right space to try and figure that out.” He must have seen the look on Harry’s face, because his voice was becoming almost frightened. “It’s not like I don’t want to – I mean, I just don’t think I… I’m so… confused…” he swallowed a few times quickly, staring at Harry with huge, truly bewildered eyes. “I’m sorry. The last thing I want is to hurt you. I simply don’t think I can stomach anything right now, with all that’s happening. It’s all a little too much.”

“Calm down, Malfoy,” Harry said pretty instinctively, because he could feel the hysteria rising from him. “It’s not like I thought we’d – I don’t know, be together now or something.”

“Oh?” the Slytherin asked, very pink around the cheeks.

“Yeah, I… I don’t really know what’s happened last night. I think I was just a little cold, and really tired and it’s just sort of… happened. I didn’t mean anything by it. Please don’t freak out anymore.” He wasn’t sure if he was being entirely honest right now, and there was a dull ache in his stomach that was growing worse and worse, but he really couldn’t say anything else to that panicked face.

“Oh,” Malfoy said again, leaning on the desk behind him. “Okay, then. So you… weren’t expecting…”

“No,” Harry replied quickly, alarmed. “I didn’t expect anything, really. I swear.” That, at least, was the truth. He had absolutely zero expectations.

“Good,” Malfoy said, visibly relaxing. “I just thought… never mind. It’s just that I’m in a really, really weird place in my life right now, and I’m still trying to work that out, and then…” he shook his head, closing his eyes. “I’m just so…”

“Confused,” Harry completed. He nodded.

“Yes. I’m glad you understand.” Malfoy seemed very hesitant.

“It’s okay, Malfoy. I really didn’t think any of it through. It just happened, and we don’t need to talk about it ever again.” The blond sighed with relief, but Harry still felt that pain inside, like he ate something bad. Little waves of nausea made him slightly dizzy. “So, if that’s all you wanted…” he didn’t wait for a reply and left the rather-stunned boy to himself, almost running away. He didn’t know why, but he was seething; it was hard to even see where he was going. He told the truth back there; he really hadn’t expected to be with Malfoy or anything of the sort. he had no idea what he even wanted from him. So why was he acting like this? Why did he feel like punching the hell out of the wall?

He was so furious, it took him a second to realize he did in fact hit something solid. Rattled and dazed he looked around, only to find a pair of black eyes searching his, a little smirk playing on the yellowing face. “What have we here, Potter? What is this unseemly behavior supposed to mean?”

Harry almost spluttered an array of insults before he could stop himself. Taking an extremely long breath, he looked right at the Potions master. “I’m sorry, Professor. Must have missed you there.”

“It would appear you have. I wonder what on earth could possibly upset the great Potter so.” He gave him a knowing look that made him shiver to his core. “And where is your potions partner?” he asked in a low voice, making Harry’s eyes widen and a beginning of a gasp to escape his lips. How did he know?

“I have no idea. I’m hardly the person to ask. You should try some of your Slytherin crowd for that.” He hoped he was giving a good enough show of indifference.

“No, I think you are the perfect person to ask. I have pretty strong reasons to believe you would know more of his whereabouts than my pupils.” The glint in the black eyes made Harry positively sick. he gritted his teeth. It took everything he had not to jump at his throat right there and then.

“You’re wrong,” he growled, barely able to contain himself. The levels of rage inside him were startling and new. He had always hated the man, and in the beginning of the year he absolutely detested him. But now, with all that he’s done to Malfoy… taking his wand away, threatening to tell Voldemort about him… he could feel his own heart beating wildly, as if trying to smash its ribcage.

“I see,” the professor said with a smirk, and Harry was utterly livid. He imagined he could feel steam rising from his burning head. “Well then, in that case…” and he departed, leaving Harry shaking there in the corridor, more baffled and angrier than he had been all year.

***

By the time Harry could calm himself down, he was way too agitated about Snape and his accusations to be worried about what had happened with Malfoy just before. If Snape knows they are spending time together – if he figures out that Malfoy has changed his mind – Harry had absolutely no doubt: he will go straight to Voldemort. He didn’t know why Dumbledore trusted the man, and to be honest, he thought that was quite foolish of him. His worries were so disturbing, he was completely consumed by them for the next few days, trying to keep his distance from the Slytherin as much as he could as to not cause any more suspicion. It was only when he finally calmed down, and tried to reach out to the blond again, that he realized he has a different problem altogether.

“Harry?” he was sitting in the Gryffindor common room, chin in his hand and elbow on his knee, staring deep into the fire. He was startled to see Hermione looking right at him. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he said, rubbing his forehead and getting into a slightly more comfortable sitting position. “Yeah, ‘m fine. Where’s Ron?”

“He just said he was going to bed,” Hermione chuckled. “Wow, you were really out of it tonight, were you?”

“Yes,” Harry admitted, covering his eyes in one hand. There was no point in denying. “Sorry.”

“What’s wrong?” she asked softly. “You’ve been acting strange all week.”

“It’s nothing,” Harry shook his head, still rubbing his sore head.

“Harry…”

“Okay, not nothing. Just the usual, then.”

“Malfoy?”

“Yeah, you could say that…”

Hermione grabbed the hand covering his face and removed it gently, looking into his eyes. “Harry, what’s happened between you two?”

“What?” he was really startled now, jumping a little in his seat. “What do you mean?”

“Well, something’s definitely up. You’ve been out of your mind all week, and he seems so miserable. What was it? Did you fight?”

Harry sighed. He didn’t want to say anything, didn’t want to admit it even to himself, but he was too tired and too perturbed to deny it. “Yes, sort of. I mean no, not really. I don’t really know.”

“You know you can tell me anything, right, Harry?” she said in such a warm tone, he was completely defenseless. He caved.

“I kissed him,” he whispered, barely daring to look at her. “that night I went to see him in the owlery. We were talking and I was so tired and it was so cold and… I kissed him.” He buried his face in both hands, unable to take it any longer. “I don’t know why I did it, Hermione. I really don’t. and I think I really freaked him out and now he won’t even look at me anymore.”

“Harry…” she said consolingly, petting his arm. “What did he say?”

“What did he say when?”

“After you kissed him.” He had to look at her now; she sounded so business-like, not at all stunned, like he was telling her something about the weather and not about how he went and kissed their all-time school rival. “Did he say anything? Did he kiss you back?”

“I – “ Harry started, eyebrows knitting on his forehead. “Why do you sound like it’s no surprise to you?”

“Well, it kind of isn’t.” she shrugged, and giggled at his shocked look. “I’m not going to say I expected it to happen, but I didn’t not expect it, either.”

“What? Hermione, what are you talking about?”

“Well you’ve always had a… special energy between you two,” she was properly chuckling now at his expression. “Not to say that I think you secretly liked him all these years, but come on, Harry, there was always this tension between you. Malfoy’s the only one who could always make you react, no matter what. And with all the time you’ve been spending together recently, and how close you were getting… I mean, it’s not a total shock.”

“You’re joking,” he said, mouth gaping in horror. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh no, I’m rather serious,” she did look it. “Think back and you’ll see it too. You’ve always paid him special attention, and he you. You’ve always had this… effect on each other. And now that you’re working together, and you’re so emotionally invested in him, I think it’s only natural that things will happen.”

“But they didn’t,” he said slowly. “Nothing happened. I mean, he kissed me once, a while back, but it was only because he was depressed and lonely. And then I kissed him, but he said he’s too confused and he can’t have anything to do with me right now.” he had no idea why the hell he sounded so glum about it.

“And did you want to… have something with him?” she asked gently. Harry just stared at her. “Come on, Harry. Be honest with yourself. I know you’ve been thinking about him a lot all these weeks.”

“Well, I…” he mused, digging in his messy hair. “I don’t really know. I don’t really know what I want from him. Hermione, he’s a _boy_!”

“So what?” she asked. Her tone was so careless, so casual, that he actually paused to think about it. What if she was right? What if that didn’t matter?

“But – but he’s also Malfoy – Ron would go nuts – “

“Who cares what Ron thinks? Who cares what anyone thinks? It’s only what you think that matters, Harry. And just for the record, I don’t think he’d mind so much. I think he’d be very glad that you found something that makes you happy.”

Harry had to think about that. “But I’m not happy. I’m miserable, Hermione. I’m miserable and confused and angry and did I say confused?”

She laughed and put her hand on his arm. ”It’s okay to be confused, Harry. You don’t have to have all the answers now. For crying out loud, you’re sixteen! You just need to try and see what feels good. What did it feel like when you kissed him?”

Harry turned his gaze to the fire. He was silent for a moment, trying to find the right words. “It was… easy,” he said, then immediately blushed. “I mean, it was natural. And brilliant. Oh, Christ.”

Her smile was so wide, he could see it from the corner of his eye. “See? Then that’s what you should go with, and to hell with what other people might think.”

“But it’s not what he wants,” he said, looking back at her. “He told me he doesn’t have the capacity for anything now, that he’s in a weird place with his life, and honestly, I can totally get that… I mean with his mum and everything that’s going on, it’s amazing he can even still go to classes.” He bit his lip. “and he’s been so awkward around me ever since. I think I messed everything up.”

“You did not,” she rolled her eyes, and a part of him was aching to believe her. “You’ve been kind of weird around him too, avoiding him all week.”

“Because of Snape!” he said, enraged. “Because I didn’t want him to think we have any connection whatsoever!”

“Well, he doesn’t know that!” Hermione exclaimed, slapping him hard on the arm. “He thinks you’re mad at him for turning you down!”

“What? But of course I’m not. He didn’t even turn me down; I never offered him anything…”

“Yes, but since you didn’t give him any other explanation, that’s how he sees it. And he’s so upset about it, too, because right now you’re the only friend he has, and he thinks he lost you.”

“He has other friends,” Harry said a little too quickly, averting his eyes from her.

“Well not really, not anymore. Parkinson, Nott and Zabini don’t know about his situation, so he doesn’t feel as close to them anymore. Crabbe and Goyle have completely betrayed his trust, and the rest of the Slytherins were never so close to him. You’re the only one who knows, the only one he can open up to. And he feels like he’s opened up to you, trusted you, and now you don’t want to be around him anymore.”

“But that’s idiotic,” Harry said through gritted teeth. “All you need is one good look at my face to know I can’t stand being away from that sodding git.”

“I think he’s so afraid he’s hurt you, he isn’t even looking at you anymore. And I mean, there’s the whole mum thing on top of that that, so he’s worried you’d do something stupid in order to get back at him. Can you imagine how he feels, knowing you could tear his life completely by saying a single word out of turn? Being worried that you would do it because he wronged you? I know you won’t,” she gave a little exasperated sigh as he opened his mouth to retort indignantly, “and I think he knows that too, because he hasn’t said anything yet. But you know, he has to be careful.”

“God, this is such a mess,” he dug both hands in his hair and rubbed furiously. “What do I do, Hermione?”

“Make him feel safe again,” she said as if it was obvious. “Make it clear to him that you’d be there whether something’s happened between you to or not. And then when things calm down and he can think freely again, who knows… something might.” Her eyes were filled with empathy, and Harry couldn’t resist the urge and hugged her. She hugged back, fiercely. “Ron and I love you, Harry. We only want what’s good for you. We really don’t care about the details.”

He wiped away the tears quickly before they stained her robes.  



	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Planning Christmas, a breakout from Azkaban, general fluffiness.

The next night, going up to the seventh floor, Harry was more nervous than he had been in a while. His palms were actually sweaty despite the freezing December winds blowing through the castle. When he reached the door he stopped for a few slow, deep breaths, then went in before he loses the courage to do so. 

As he anticipated, Malfoy was already there, on his sofa again and looking at him almost fearfully. Harry tried to smile, but his insides were as cold as the castle grounds, and he walked over to him a little robotically. Sitting down next to him, but as far away as the sofa would allow, he tried to look casual. “How are you, Malfoy? Had a good week?”

Malfoy lowered his gaze to his knees, and he looked so sad, it hurt in Harry’s chest. “Yes, it’s been fine.” His voice was completely flat. Harry cleared his throat. 

“Malfoy, look, I’m sorry I’ve been a little distant. I promise you it had nothing to do with you.”

“It’s okay, Potter. You don’t have to explain, I understand. You never promised you’d be my friend.” He tried to keep his voice light, but Harry could still feel it ripping his heart right out of his heaving torso. 

“Come on, of course you’re my friend. I’ve already went through the trouble of getting my lips used to saying it, so don’t you dare going back on me now.”

Malfoy shot him a fleeting glance. “Look, I get it, all right? I wish the situation were different. I understand why you’re angry with me.” He ran a nervous hand through his hair. “You don’t need to pretend.”

“I’m not pretending, I mean it. You may be a prat, but you’re in it for life now. In my world we don’t stop being friends over a simple misunderstanding. It’s more of the need-to-die-to-get-out sort of thing.”

The grey eyes looking at him were filled with uncertainty. “But all week – “

“I’ve been keeping a low profile. When I left History class that day we spoke, I ran into Snape. He made some suggestions that got me a little worried, so I tried to keep my distance from you, to make sure he doesn’t suspect even more.”

“But – you didn’t – I mean, you never said a word to me – “

“Yes, because he was paying me way too much attention, so I thought it would be best to lay low.” Harry didn’t quite understand the desperate shade in Malfoy’s voice. 

A sigh of relief was followed by a hard slap on his shoulder. “Potter, you utter prick. You could have told me!”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Harry smiled and rubbed the sore spot Malfoy hit. 

“You complete prat! I thought you were furious with me! I thought you never wanted to speak to me again!” his voice was quite a bit higher than his usual. 

“What, because you didn’t want to kiss me? Don’t be an idiot, Malfoy. You should know me better than that.”

“Well, I... I thought you were hurt. I thought you were angry.” Now it was Malfoy covering his eyes with his hands, and Harry couldn’t even begin to explain how gratified he felt, seeing how much the Slytherin cared. “I thought I’ve ruined everything.”

“No, come on. You didn’t do anything wrong, okay? I was a total arse, leaving like that, and then not explaining myself when I really should have. I’m sorry.” He spoke as sincerely as he could, because Malfoy looked like an absolute wreck. He was shaking a little and covering his face, his hair bouncing up and down. “Malfoy, I’m really sorry.”

“Are you serious? This was really everything, Snape being suspicious? you didn’t – hear anything more from him?”

“No, nothing. Why, was there something to hear?”

Malfoy shook his head, and for a while he was just completely lost. “Just – don’t do that to me again, all right?” he asked finally, mastering himself and emerging from between his hands. “Never do that again.”

“I promise,” Harry laughed in relief when he saw the blond hadn’t actually been crying. “I don’t promise not to be a prat again, though, cause that will probably happen again in our lifetime.” Malfoy laughed, and he looked so relieved, for a second Harry let his previous remark just slide. Then he came back to his senses. “What was Snape going to tell me?”

“Oh, nothing much,” Malfoy muttered, not meeting his gaze. “Well, I guess you’d find out on your own soon enough, it will surely be on the news tomorrow.”

“What will?” a tingling sense of dread ran coldly through him. 

“There’s been a breakout from Azkaban prison tonight,” Malfoy said a little flatly, eyes settling on the fire. “I believe around ten of the Dark Lord’s supporters have escaped. My father was one of them.”

Harry gasped, and for a second he was unable to say anything. He shook himself. “How do you know?”

“Snape knew it was going to happen. He’s already received word it was done tonight. He informed me.”

“But that’s crazy! Does he know where they are? Do you know?”

Malfoy shrugged, and he seemed a little drained all of a sudden. “I wasn’t told.”

“Malfoy, if you know where convicted Death Eaters are hiding, you could get in serious trouble if you don’t say anything – “

“I said I don’t know, all right?” he snapped, looking at him now. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Potter, but I have already surrendered myself over to your precious Dumbledore. You don’t really think I’d try to hide something like that from him now?”

“Okay, You’re right. I’m sorry.” Harry wrapped his arms around himself, thinking hard. If Voldemort is getting his supports back, that must mean he is going to take his fighting up a notch. They should be expecting more attacks, more deaths – more attempts at his life… he sighed and looked at the blond next to him. “Do you think he will try to contact you?”

“My father?” Malfoy didn’t have to think about it. “Yes, absolutely. I was a little surprised Snape didn’t have anything for me already. I am certain he is going to push me harder than ever to complete my task.” He lowered his head, looking very much in pain. “I doubt he will go back to the manor, so I think my mother should be safe still. But I’m worried it might make her attempt to escape even more complicated.”

Harry bit his bottom lip. “Do you think he’s with Voldemort right now?”

Malfoy shivered. “Yes, he must be. I am sure he is receiving his punishment as we speak.”

“Punishment?” Harry asked, a little timid suddenly. 

“You didn’t think that being in prison is really enough, now, did you?” Malfoy’s voice was so dark, it was unsettling. “No, he’s going to make them pay for their little slip up last summer, when they let you escape. I only got a little of it, because it was second hand; I am sure they are going to be in a world of pain tonight. All week, perhaps.” He sighed and brought his legs up, wrapping his arms around them and resting his chin on his knees. “But then he will forgive them, and they will go back to serving him. Killing and torturing others so they don’t have to face him again. Such a vicious circle.”

“It sounds so terrible,” Harry said before he could stop himself, looking at him intently. “He is awful, Malfoy. the people who actually choose to be with him must be mental. I don’t see how anyone could want this for themselves, for their family.” He didn’t really mean to say the last part, to make that accusation at Malfoy’s father, but he wasn’t really in control of his lips. 

“There were times I thought that myself,” Malfoy admitted softly to his knees. “Ever since he came back, and I could really… understand what all this means.” He seemed lost in some memories too painful to speak of. “I know my father doesn’t really care about me, Potter. I know he’d give me over to the Dark Lord in a heartbeat – he already has. But he’s still my father.” His voice was colder than ice. Harry hastened to look at him.

“I know, Malfoy, I understand. I never – I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say anything about him. I can’t imagine how you must be feeling.”

“I don’t know how I feel,” the voice was so low it was nearly inaudible. “I don’t know how I feel about any of this anymore. About my father, the Dark Lord, my mother, you. Nothing is clear, nothing is straight. It’s like the whole world tumbled down and fell on its head and I’m just trying to find somewhere to hold on to before I fall into the gaping abyss.”

Harry held his breath. “You can hold on to me,” he said quietly, hating himself for saying something so cheesy. “I’m right here, Malfoy. I’ve already told you, whatever you need. I promise I’d never let any hurt feelings or anger stand in my way. I’d always be here.”

For a second the blond just shook his head, stunned. Then he let his feet drop to the floor and got closer to Harry, leaning his head on his shoulder. “You’re only making it more difficult,” he replied, closing his eyes. Harry tried to remain still, debating with himself whether to put an arm around him or not. “You are such a git, Potter.”

“I know,” Harry smiled, resting his own head on the blond one. “And you love it.”

“Gods, if my father could hear me now,” Malfoy said in horror. “I think he might actually get a heart attack and keel over right in front of us.”

“Nah, he’d probably do something nastier, like taking us to Voldemort first.” He could feel the body next to him tensing up, and immediately regretted saying that. “Sorry, Malfoy. that was a cheap shot.”

“No, it’s fine. It’s probably what he would do.” A very thick, heavy silence followed that statement. “Potter, I – I just want you to know this doesn’t change anything.”

“What?” that caught him a little unprepared. He raised his head off the blond’s and looked down at him.

“My father breaking out. All these Death Eaters back at his side. It… doesn’t mean I would change my mind. I am still going to do anything I can to get my mother out, but if I get the choice… I’m not going to go back to him. Not if I can help it.”

Harry nodded, a little too choked up to say anything. He didn’t want to ask what he’d do if Dumbledore _can’t_ get Narcissa out. That was just a black hole, and nothing constructive could ever come of it. He brought his eyes back to the fireplace and bit his lip. “What are you going to do on break?”

Malfoy seemed baffled for a second. “Oh, yeah. I’ve not given it much thought. I could never go back to the manor, they wouldn’t be too happy to see me, everything considered. I guess I’d have to stay here.”

Harry nodded. “I thought you might say that. I’m staying, too.”

“Potter,” he tried, but Harry carried on. 

“I’ve been thinking about it, and I kind of miss spending Christmas here. I’ve always loved it, and I think it might be time to go back to tradition. I’m not going to have too many opportunities, after all.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Malfoy said immediately. “You’re going to go to Weasley’s and have a great time. Don’t worry about it, okay? I got pretty used to being on my own.” 

“Nope, I’m really feeling the school-pride vibe this year. I think it will be great. A lot of snow for us to play in, probably, too.”

The blond gave a startled little laugh. “I’m not going to be able to play in the snow with you, Potter. Not with Snape around, at least.”

“I’m sure we can evade him. Maybe we can poison him over Christmas dinner and make him ill for a few days. Or we could just kill him.” His eyes glinted malevolently. 

“I think Dumbledore is going to be pretty annoyed with us if we did.” Malfoy gave his most angelic smile, and Harry’s heart literally stopped for a second. “But seriously, Potter. I don’t want you to ruin your holiday for me. You should go, I promise I’d be fine.”

“Fat chance, Malfoy. trying to hog all the delicious food all for yourself, are you?” he ruffled the silky hair a little, and this small gesture of affection seemed to render Malfoy speechless for a moment. 

“Potter, I – honestly, you don’t have to. I’d feel terrible to know that you’re stuck here all because of me. You need to spend the holiday with people you can actually stand.”

“I’m not staying here because of you. I’m staying because I want to. And I can’t think of a better way to spend the holiday, in any case.” It was a little embarrassing to say it, but he knew it’s true the second the words left his lips. If he’d be all the way away at the Burrow, he would only be thinking of Malfoy anyway. If he stayed they could spend more time together, and Harry could maybe help him deal with the turmoil he’s going through right now. And maybe Malfoy could help him with… well, maybe he could help him, too. 

That last statement took Malfoy by complete surprise. He looked at Harry like he never really saw him before, mouth slightly ajar. Then he recovered and arranged his features into a smirk. “You’re not as smooth as all that, Potter. But I have to admit it was quite charming.”

Harry couldn’t help but smile. “Bit by bit I will win you over, Malfoy, you’d see. In the end you won’t be able to stay away from me for a minute.”

“A little too late in the season for your scary ghost stories, Potter,” Malfoy batted his eyelashes innocently at him. “Although I think you went a little too far with that particular one.”

“Oh, it’s no story. It’s the future. You know I’m half-prophetic, so I can see this kind of things. I can see your future. Cheer up; you look very happy and successful. Head over heels for me, unfortunately, but other than that you seem great.”

Malfoy laughed, but it sounded a little forced. “My, Potter, could you think of a more terrible future for me? This one is too far-fetched. If I’m to believe I actually have a future, it has to have at least more… I don’t know, anguish in it. Otherwise I’d know it couldn’t be mine.”

“Nope, I’m pretty sure, I checked twice. This is your future. believe it or not, it’s coming your way. you are going to be happy and healthy and content. Nothing you can do about it.”

The grey eyes caught his for a second, and the look they gave him made it impossible to speak. There was such tenderness, such warmth and affection, it was really quite hard to tear his gaze away. But then Malfoy shook his head and laughed again, and Harry’s nervous stomach relaxed. “Keep telling yourself that, Potter. And then you wonder why I doubt your intelligence.” Harry threw the nearest cushion in his direction, and they laughed a little more. He looked at the blond boy, close enough to touch, and felt his chest widening, his heart soaring. It wasn’t everything he wanted, maybe; there were way too many problems, still; there was so much pain and fear and uncertainty. But now, right now, fighting on the soft couch in front of the fire, he actually felt happy. 

***

It was on the front page of the newspaper the following morning; there was not a face in the Great Hall that didn’t seem at least aware of the news. Heads were bent low over the tables, whispered conversations filled the room like the buzzing of some hundred angry bees. Harry was in the middle of a conversation, or rather, he was surrounded by one, not taking an active part. his eyes were scanning the other tables, one in particular, and he sighed when he didn’t find the head he was looking for. 

The staff table didn’t seem indifferent to the news, either. Their teachers were speaking quickly and quietly, looking around as if afraid to be overheard. One person in particular was missing from the table; two, actually, that Harry was searching for. He cleared his throat.

“Where’d you think they are?” it didn’t take the others too long to understand who he meant.

“Dumbledore’s been away quite often recently,” Neville offered quietly. “My gran thinks he’s off fighting, but I don’t really know. He’s gone an awful lot.”

“They say he was spotted in a fight again, not too far from London,” Seamus said in an excited whisper. “took three Death Eaters by himself, and got the rest arrested. Not that it matters, really, with the breakout and everything. If You-Know-Who can just bust them out at any moment, why do they keep locking them up?’”

“What do you want the Ministry to do with them?” Hermione asked coolly. Seamus just shrugged his shoulders, but his expression turned quite cold too. 

“And Snape?” Harry asked quickly, trying to avoid more bickering. 

“Oh, who knows? Good riddance, I say.” Ron gulped down an entire glass of juice. “Further away he is, the better I sleep at night.”

“You sleep just fine every night, mate,” Seamus said and clapped him on the shoulders good naturedly. “Keeping me up with your snoring and all.”

“I’m not half as bad as Harry,” Ron smiled defensively. “Screaming and waking everyone up every once in a while, huh?”

“I’ve not done that in a while,” Harry objected to general laughter. But then it made him think. “It didn’t happen in a while,” he repeated quietly, giving Hermione and Ron meaningful looks.

“Do you think he’s trying to keep you out? Like Dumbledore said?” she whispered as they both bent their heads to him and Seamus and Neville started talking about the breakout again. 

“I guess,” Harry said, absently rubbing his scar. “I think he was hurt bad the last time he tried in the summer, so maybe he’s a little scared to try again. Or maybe he doesn’t want me to see what he’s doing right now.”

“But Harry,” she persisted, “what if he does try again? You never quite mastered Occlumency. If he tried to invade your mind again, to give you more hallucinations – you have to try and stop it, no?”

He gave her a furious look. “I’m not going to go back to Snape, if that’s what you’re suggesting.”

“Maybe you don’t have to,” Ron contributed in a low voice. “Maybe there’s someone else who can teach you that now.”

He stared at him, not comprehending. Then he stared at Hermione, who gave him the same look of plain ‘duh’. He shook his head. “Who are you talking about?”

“Malfoy!” they both said exasperatedly, and the people around all looked at them curiously. Hermione bent even closer to him and practically whispered in his ear.

“He can teach you, Harry. We know he must be good in it, if he’s blocking Snape’s attempts all this time. So he can help you practice, and then you’d be ready when the time comes and you’d need to face him again.”

Harry thought about it for a second. Now that it was out there the possibility seemed too obvious, and he didn’t know how it didn’t occur to him sooner. They have been spending so much time together, anyway; and Malfoy would be grateful to stop having to relieve his worst moments and start visiting Harry’s, he was sure of that. 

“Okay,” he said finally. “And I’d have a lot of time to practice with him over break. Oh yeah, I didn’t tell you yet – I’m going to stay here for Christmas.”  



	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas break is the perfect time for some shenanigans! Some snogging _will_ ensue.

In all his life, Harry had never seen any place looking as desolate as Hogwarts did this winter break. Nearly no one stayed on for the holidays – apparently all parents wanted their children as close to them as possible. Harry was alone in Gryffindor tower save for two Muggle-born boys in the second year, who were far too terrified to ever stick around where he was, so he was pretty much all alone. At breakfast he saw that only a handful of teachers stayed, three Ravenclaws in the seventh year, two Slytherins (Malfoy and a very small first year) and one Hufflepuff he felt he had never seen before. It was almost comical to see the large tables so unpopulated. It felt more like a dream than real life, walking around the empty halls, seeing so few faces in a place that was usually so lively.

It did have its benefits, though. Right now the only person they needed to worry about was Snape, and he was rarely in the castle as it was. Over the first two days of Christmas break Harry and Malfoy met in the Room of Requirement, spending most of their time there. But then an idea occurred to Harry. He gobbled his breakfast on the third day of break, then waited outside the hall for the blond, who followed suit quickly. 

“We can go to Gryffindor instead,” he suggested without even saying hello as the thin figure emerged through the doors. “We don’t need to stay in that room all day. There’s hardly anyone there, Snape can’t come in, and it’s far cozier.”

Malfoy resisted, but only for a minute. “I’m sure it’ll be just as sore on the eyes as the way you’ve decorated the Room,” he said disdainfully as he followed Harry up the stairs. “All red and mismatched like. But oh well, if I must sacrifice my delicate senses in order to keep up with you…” his scornful look only intensified when the fat lady’s portrait moved and they found themselves in the common room. “Just as I thought,” he muttered, his eyes catching all the golden-red banners and lion symbols. “It’s gruesome.”

“Shut up, you prat. It’s not that bad.” Harry pushed him in and sank into his favorite armchair in front of the fire. “It’s cozy, it’s warm, and it’s private. There’s only two other Gryffindors here with me, and they won’t be a problem for us. We have the place to ourselves.” He gestured luxuriously around the room. Malfoy gave him an amused smirk and sat down next to him. 

“You do look very comfortable here,” he said, not without a little envy in his voice. “The Slytherin common room is nice, of course, but it’s far less cozy. it’s underground, so there’s a bit of an… interesting atmosphere to it.”

“Yeah, it’s dead creepy,” Harry concurred. He got a very peculiar look from the blond.

“How would you know?” he asked with wonder. 

“Oh, er, I’ve been there before. Been to most parts of the castle, to be honest.” His cheeks were already beginning to flush, and he prayed Malfoy wouldn’t ask more about it. The time he went in the Slytherin common room had, after all, everything to do with him. But Malfoy seemed pacified and didn’t push on. 

“It’s so bizarre, how empty the castle is. Sleeping alone in the dorms is strange enough, but there’s only one more person in the whole Slytherin wing. It’s eerie. Makes me think of the Manor during the summer, I keep expecting Greyback to pop out from behind a statue or something.” he spoke lightly, but Harry sensed how disturbed he was by it.

“Why don’t you sleep here?” he asked tentatively. “No one else is in my room. You could take Ron’s bed, he won’t mind. Well, maybe he’d mind, but he won’t know about it, anyway.”

Malfoy gave him a look as if he just suggested to duel a stuffed salamander. “Me? Sleep here?” there was horror in his tone. 

“Yes,” Harry said, and he couldn’t help but laugh at his expression. “You, sleep here. It’s creepy down there all alone, you’ve said it yourself, and I’m getting kind of lonely up here as well. Don’t worry though, no funny business. You can bring your own sheets too if you’d like.”

“I’m not – I didn’t - “ Malfoy’s cheeks got to that adorable rouge color again. “I’m sure the house elves do just as good a job cleaning here as they do in the dungeons. We’ll see, okay? I’ll think about it.” Harry shrugged, still smiling. 

“Whatever you want. We still have about three more weeks of break, and that’s a long, long time.”

Two blond eyebrows shot up. “Oh, is that right? Do you have any plans for this long, long time?”

“Well yes, actually.” Harry looked at him, and for a second he was a little hesitant. “I was wondering if you could practice Occlumency with me.”

Malfoy only looked a little surprised. “Why me?”

“Because I figured you must be good at it, if you’re fooling Snape. He tried to teach me last year how to do it, but it all went rather… oh well. So anyway, if you think you could do it, that’d be great.”

He took a moment to consider Harry’s proposition. “All right, I don’t think it should be too hard. We could practice together. If I get my wand back, that is.”

“He’s still not letting you have it?” Harry asked incredulously. It was just such an inconceivable thing to do, to take someone’s wand away from them. He could just as well have taken Malfoy’s arm; the wand was a part of him, if not the most important part. 

Malfoy shrugged. “He seems to think I’m wasting my time.” He still used his very light, causal tone, but Harry had learnt to read the ominous glint in his eyes. He knew just how much the Slytherin detested feeling helpless.

“He’s an arse,” he said with such an honest groan, that even Malfoy smiled. “I can’t wait till this is all over with, and we can shove him down all the stairs of the astronomy tower.”

Malfoy laughed. “I had something far darker planned for him, I’m afraid. But I like your juvenile pushing-down-staircase plan too. We can start with that.”

“What’d you have in mind?” Harry asked out of pure interest. A shadow passed over the pale face, and for a second Harry wondered if he’d made a mistake. 

“Nothing too particular,” the blond replied carefully. “I’m not thinking to torture him or anything. Just utterly humiliate him, same as he did me.”

“You couldn’t very well torture him if you wanted,” Harry looked into his eyes. “You wouldn’t be able to use the spells.”

Again that hollow, mirthless laughter shook Harry’s very bones. “You are quite naïve, Potter. You have no idea what spells I am able to perform.”

“Do you mean – are you talking about – have you ever used an Unforgivable?” Harry’s eyes must have been as large as snow globes. 

For a second, Malfoy did not answer. His gaze swept the room, maybe in attempt to gather his courage, maybe falling into thought. Then he brought his glance back to Harry. “Yes,” was all he said. 

That was definitely not enough of an explanation. ”What? When? Which? How?”

“Easy with the questions,” Malfoy smiled, but he didn’t seem at all amused. If anything, he looked a little nauseous. “I have been taught to use the Unforgiveable curses when I turned fifteen. Over the summer, I was instructed further in the performance of the torture and the Imperio curse.”

“And – the killing curse?” he wasn’t at all sure he wanted to hear the answer to that. 

“I’ve used that too, yes. Never attempted to kill anything bigger than a rat, though.” Harry swallowed heavily.

“Who taught you?” he asked, horrified. 

“My father,” Malfoy said, lowering his head. “And my aunt. The final instructions were given to me by the Dark Lord himself. He seemed to think that experiencing the Unforgivable curses is the best way to learn how to use them.”

Harry trembled with unease. “Sounds a little like the Death Eater that pretended to be Moody, using the Imperio on all of us fourth year.”

“He did learn directly from the Dark Lord,” Malfoy nodded gravely. “But he was nothing compared to him. The level of pain the Dark Lord can achieve is quite remarkable, even considering what a gifted wizard he is.”

“That’s terrible. I’m sorry you ever had to experience that.” Harry let the information run through his mind. It all was just so unbelievable; a fifteen-year-old Draco Malfoy being taught how to use life-sentence worthy spells… being tortured with them… “It just seems so unfair.”

“Fairness is an illusion”’ Malfoy said carelessly, gazing out the snow-laden window. “Life isn’t fair. I think the both of us have learned that pretty early on. That is, perhaps, why we can get along so well. And perhaps the reason we didn’t get along until now.”

Harry had to think about that. “I suppose,” he said, but he still felt a little uncomfortable. “I didn’t have to go through all the craziness you did, though. I was put under the Cruciatus curse, but very briefly. And when I tried to use it I – well, failed.”

“You tried to perform the torture curse?” Malfoy asked, stunned. His head snapped back up to look at Harry. “When? And why?”

“I was aiming at your aunt, actually, after she… killed Sirius. I ran after her and – I wanted to hurt her, to make her pay. It didn’t work. She said I didn’t mean it enough.” He sounded very bitter to his own ears.

“She was probably right about that,” Malfoy said softly, his eyes still wide and questioning. “You do need to mean them, otherwise you can’t perform any of the Unforgiveable curses. But, Potter, don’t you – “ he considered his words before continuing. “Isn’t Dumbledore teaching you how to use them?”

Harry was so shocked, he couldn’t answer for a while. “Why would he be teaching me _that_?” he asked in his best attempt at his normal voice. Malfoy seemed embarrassed, but he carried on.

“Well, because you… in the end, you will have to… Potter, if you don’t learn how to use them, how will you kill the Dark Lord?”

That was such a good point, Harry could do nothing but scratch his head at it. “I – don’t know. I never really thought this far.”

“You have to practice using them,” Malfoy said quietly. “You must be ready to meet him, Potter. Maybe the last time he only showed you a little of what he can do, but I cannot stress enough how impatient he has grown since then. He will not hesitate to torture you for days, only for the sake of it. You must be prepared, and you have to be able to defend yourself - and when the time comes, finish him.”

Harry wasn’t able to swallow anymore due to a huge lump in his throat. He looked at the blond, who was staring out the window in a vacant sort of stare, and thought hard. It made sense, after all; Harry would have to learn how to use the killing curse in order to defeat Voldemort. Because he would have to kill him in the end; that was his destiny, was it not? He will have no choice, at some point in his life, but to stand in front of him and face him for good. If he can’t kill him, doesn’t it mean he will have to die? A cold shiver went through his spine.

“I can help you with that, too,” Malfoy said softly, and Harry felt like he’s being pulled back into the real world from a distorted dream universe. “I can teach you, if you want. if you’d let me.”

“I’ll think about it,” Harry said, even though the more he considered the idea in his head, the more obvious it seemed to him. “Yeah, I guess we could try and do that. So you’d have a lot of teaching me to do this winter, Malfoy,” he tried to return to his normal tone of voice. “I hope you have a lot of patience, because I’m a slow learner.”

That was enough, maybe; the blond retorted with an incredulous scoff. “Slow learner? Potter, I’ve seen flobberworms learn quicker than you. It’d be a miracle if you were able to master both Occlumency and the Unforgiveables in such a short period of time. But I’m not overly concerned; you would have a fantastic teacher.”

“The very best,” Harry said with a wide smile, and for a moment Malfoy just stared at him, shocked. “A bit of a git, and thinks way too highly of himself, but still rather decent.” The grey eyes narrowed and the smirk returned in between the flushed cheeks. 

“Gods, give me strength. I think I’m going to need a lot of it.”

“Oh can it, Malfoy. You are going to love it; you’d be bossing me around and shouting at me all day. I am the one who should be concerned.”

“It’s Professor Malfoy for you. Or simply sir, if you prefer.” The smirk widened into a grin, and Harry was still grinning too. He was starting to feel a little giddy. 

“I’m sorry, sir. I’d be sure not to make that mistake again.”

Malfoy grabbed him by his collar and pulled Harry towards him, getting their faces quite close to each other. “No, you will not,” he said softly, and Harry’s heart was almost bursting right out of his chest with the speed it was going. He had to take some quick, shallow breaths, as his brain seemed devoid of oxygen all of a sudden. A jolt passed through his entire body as Malfoy let go of him, and he slunk back into his seat, flustered and hot.

“Well I – we don’t have to start right away, do we?” He asked, and more so he’d have something to do with his sweaty hands, he took out the Marauder’s map from his pocket. “You want to go out for a little walk? See if Snape’s not about?”

“What the – is that the map?” the smirk disappeared completely and the silver in Malfoy’s eyes was alight. “That is a remarkable piece of magic, Potter. Did you say your father made it?”

“Yes, with his friends. Lupin and Sirius, my godfather, and… Wormtail.”

“Wormtail? The Death Eater, Wormtail? He was a friend of your father’s?” Malfoy considered this information. “I guess that does explain some of the things he knew. I thought it was because he was Weasley’s pet rat for so long, but I suppose his knowledge goes deeper than that.” He gave the map a thorough inspection. “This is really a unique piece. Your father must have been a very talented wizard.”

Harry swelled with pride as he glanced down the well-worn parchment. “Thanks. It is great, I’ve been able to do a lot of bad things using it.”

“Is this what you used to follow me around the castle and corner me in highly uncomfortable situations?” Malfoy asked lightly. Harry went red, but the grey eyes were twinkling. 

“Something like that, yeah,” he relaxed. “Don’t pretend you didn’t like it, though.”

“It was terrible,” Malfoy said, looking very pleased with himself and far more at ease than when he just arrived. In fact in the very short time they were seated in the common room, Malfoy seemed to make himself at home; he was once again sitting in his regal, accustomed way that made him seem comfortable anywhere. Harry could only stare in wonder at the smooth, slick movements, so well crafted, that made him look almost noble. Harry found Snape situated in his dungeons, so the two went out, and had a marvelous afternoon throwing snowballs at each other and generally goofing around like a couple of kids who’d never seen snow in their lives. Throughout the whole time Harry tried to keep his physical distance from Malfoy; it seemed like whenever he was getting too near, something strange was happening to his body, and it was almost impossible not to touch him. He worked very hard on staying away, keeping Hermione’s words of warning close to his heart. 

Harry bewitched them a little flame in a jar, one of her specialties, and they were really quite comfortable on the snowy lawn all by themselves. When he wasn’t struggling with the need to caress Malfoy, Harry was simply in awe by how natural it was to be around him, how fun. He didn’t remember having this much fun with anyone in a long, long time. And to think he could be doing that with Malfoy was still a little mind boggling. 

When they were wet and famished enough they returned to the castle, where Harry dried their cloaks, and went to lunch. Snape wasn’t at the castle at all so they sat together at the Gryffindor table, although Malfoy kept periodically sending alarmed looks at the front door. But when he wasn’t - Harry looked at him as he spoke, so freely and lightly, and noticed how Malfoy wasn’t even paying attention to the fact he was eating. It was no longer an ordeal, like every other day when Harry spotted the boy from across the room. Now he seemed so content, or at least distracted, that even eating was simple. Harry felt it warming his heart almost to a boiling point. 

After lunch they returned to Gryffindor tower and played Ron’s old set of wizard’s chess. Of course Malfoy was better than him, and he beat him time after time; Harry made faces as if he was upset, but really he was just so pleased to see the blond enjoying himself, that he didn’t mind. If it was up to him, they would stay here in this cozy room all night - but at some point Malfoy was hungry and they went to dinner (Harry didn’t say a word about his sudden appetite, though he cherished it immensely). Snape was there this time, so they ate at their separate house tables, and suddenly Harry felt empty, breathless. It was strange enough to be sitting almost alone at this huge table, but after having spent all day with Malfoy at his elbow, so very close and comfortable, it was almost painful to be away. Harry ate as fast as he could and waited for the boy on the staircase outside, trying to control the frantic beating of his heart.

 _You have to calm down_ , he told himself over and over again. _This is not okay, it cannot continue like this_. He’s already come to terms with the fact that he likes Malfoy; that was unavoidable. But to be so – obsessed with him… it was a little bit too much. He can’t possibly want to spend every second with him, can’t take it badly when they have to sit apart for less than an hour. He is being ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous. He has to get a handle on himself… but it could not be helped, the way his heart leaped with inexplicable joy when the blond came out of the Hall, grinning towards him. There was nothing that could stop this sticky, warm feeling inside him as he drew nearer. Damn, damn, damn. Harry just could not control his smile. 

“I thought about it, Potter. I think I will take you up on your offer and sleep at the tower tonight. But only for tonight, though.” Harry’s heart gave a startled little leap. His smile grew, if it was possible, even wider. 

“Brilliant. Come on, then, before the old bat comes staring at us.” He started nearly running, and Malfoy ran after him, swearing and laughing. They got to the tower completely out of breath, laughing their socks off, and collapsed onto the sofas in front of the merry fire. Only when they arrived Harry realized he was actually pretty warm. 

“So what do you Gryffindors do at night around here?” the blond asked, giving the room another look over. 

“Er, not much. Usually we do homework, maybe play cards, nothing too fancy. Why, what do you do?”

“More or less the same,” Malfoy smirked as if he was hiding a very pleasing secret. “Sounds rather boring for tonight, though. I think we should make it a little more interesting.”

“What do you have in mind?” Harry asked, not without a little bit of concern. He was really quite hot. 

“I don’t suppose… you know what, give me five minutes.” And without another word he slipped out of the common room and left a very warm, slightly panicky Harry to stew on his own. He didn’t really like the mischievous tone that Malfoy took before he left. It had already been an effort to remain at arm’s length all day; from his tone of voice it sounded like the struggle was only going to become more difficult. Harry didn’t remember ever being more excited. 

It took a little more than five minutes, but in the end the boy returned with a heavy looking bag. In the meantime the two little Gryffindors arrived back from dinner and retired to their room without saying a word to Harry. Malfoy came and sat right next to him, his knee touching Harry’s casually. It took a lot of effort not to move it away. It took even more effort not to move closer. 

“What did you bring?” Harry asked, finding his mouth rather dry. 

“Just a few things. Pajamas to sleep in, a few books, and…” he rummaged in the bag for a few seconds, then pulled a sealed bottle of flame-colored liquid. “Firewhiskey!”

“Where did you get that?” Harry asked, taking the bottle from his hands and whistling in appreciation. Malfoy simply shrugged as a response, then grabbed the bottle back and unscrewed the cork. 

“Could you summon us some glasses?” he asked sheepishly, and Harry did so in an instant. Malfoy poured a generous amount of the smokey-scented liquid into each, then handed Harry a glass. “Did you ever try it before?”

“Only once,” Harry admitted, eyeing the drink a little suspiciously. “I thought it was absolutely rancid.”

“Yes, it does have a bit of a strong effect,” Malfoy laughed and turned to face Harry. “But the best part about it is that it makes you absolutely, utterly smashed. I don’t suppose goody-good Harry Potter ever got drunk before.”

“Er, no,” Harry could smell it even at a distance, sharp and intense. “Never properly drunk, no.”

“Well, now is as good a time as ever,” Malfoy raised his glass with a wide grin. “Cheers, Potter.”

“Cheers,” Harry answered weakly, and he took a big gulp when he saw the other boy bringing the glass to his lips. It burned him immediately, shooting flaming hot through his throat, and made him cough. Malfoy laughed again, delighted at his expression, and placed a hand on his shoulder. 

“Pathetic, Potter!” he said, still laughing. “Don’t worry; we’d make a real man out of you soon enough.”

“It’s just so – strong – “ Harry said, wrinkling his nose. “How can anyone like it?”

“No one likes the whiskey,” Malfoy rolled his eyes. “they just like the way it makes them feel.”

“How does it make you feel?” Harry asked, curious. He could see the pale face in front of him getting a little more colorful, and the effect was quite pleasing. 

“You’ll find out soon enough,” Malfoy said, and he was right.

A few shots later, Harry got to the conclusion that Firewhiskey was probably one of the best things in the world. He was sprawled on the sofa, Malfoy sitting somewhere next to his feet, head on the armrest. The room was spinning lightly around him, but he wasn’t fazed in the least. Instead he was really quite happy. The warm glow inside his chest made everything seem so much better. No danger could really get past the golden haze inside him; nothing stopped him, nothing worried him. He was completely and absolutely free.

When Malfoy spoke he was a little startled; he began to forget he wasn’t alone. “So just out of curiosity, Potter. You’ve never drank before. How many other things have you never done?” He must have been far more sober than Harry, because he couldn’t even consider answering in so many words himself. He merely made a vague ‘hmph’ sound and threw his hand in the air. “That’s not an answer.”

“Whaddaya mean?” was the best he could pull. 

“Well, have you ever… kissed someone before? I mean, a real kiss. Not like what we did.”

Harry was going to object to that – their kisses were plenty real to him! But he was too calm to care. “I kissed Cho Chang last year,” he slurred. Malfoy seemed to understand him nonetheless. 

“Really? And how was that?”

“Wet,” Harry said, but then he fell into an attack of chuckles and it took Malfoy a few tries to gain his attention with the next question.

“Potter! POTTER! Gods, you’re a lousy drunk. Can you even hear me?” Harry giggled and propped himself up so he could look at the Slytherin. Or maybe the Slytherins; it looked like there were at least three Draco Malfoys spinning in front of him. “Did you ever do more than kissing?”

He knew he should feel embarrassed, but there was only pleasant warmness inside him. “No,” he answered simply with a light smile. “You?”

“Just a little bit more,” Malfoy smiled back, and his smile was so inviting that Harry automatically reached forwards. He wasn’t stable, though, and somehow he fell so that his head was in the other boy’s lap. Malfoy looked down at him, and his laughter ringing through Harry’s ears was probably the best sound he ever heard. “My, Potter, you really are funny when you’re drunk.”

“‘nd cute too,” Harry added, or at least tried to. Malfoy sniggered.

“Rather cute, yes.”

“You’re cute ‘s well,” he attempted, but all the words kind of jumbled into one and he couldn’t try to say more, just stare up happily at the pale face. Malfoy was looking at him with such tenderness, he was absolutely on cloud nine. Nothing could be better than this. 

“You’re making it so, so difficult,” the blond complained, brushing a few stray hairs off Harry’s eyes. He seemed flushed all of a sudden, and so sweet, Harry thought he might be melting a little. He closed his eyes when the world around him got a little too blurry, burrowing further into the boy’s lap. His thighs were nice and soft, but when Harry moved his head he found something firmer, pressing more and more against him. He didn’t give it much thought, though, at least until he heard the other boy gasp.

“What’s’it?” he asked, a little dumbfounded, blinking a lot and trying to get the world back into one sharp image. “‘re you okay?”

“Yes, Potter, I’m fine,” Malfoy laughed in a rather breathless manner, and he dug his hands in Harry’s hair and started stroking him gently. “You don’t seem great, though. I think I may have given you a little too much for your first time.”

“‘s fine,” Harry smiled at the blurry face above him. “I feel fine.” He moved his head in Malfoy’s lap again, making him gasp once more and jump a little in his seat. He didn’t know why, but that made him chuckle.

“Stop doing that,” Malfoy said, but he only stroked him faster. 

“I don’t wanna,” was his very clever reply, and he did it again. This time Malfoy jumped in earnest, and his hands froze in Harry’s hair.

“Potter, come on, that’s not funny.” He sounded anguished all of a sudden, and that broke through Harry’s pleasant haze and concerned him. Why was he suffering? he grabbed Malfoy’s shoulders to raise himself up, but got dizzy halfway through and ended up somewhere in the air next to the blond’s face, still holding onto his shoulders so as not to fall. “Careful,” Malfoy said softly, and his lips were just right there…

He didn’t think about anything, and he wouldn’t have been able to do it if he tried, but the movement seemed to flow naturally in him. He tightened his grip on both shoulders and just dove forward, landing on Malfoy, and it took a few breathless moments until their lips found each other. Malfoy gasped again, and Harry’s tongue seized the opportunity and slid into his mouth. He didn’t know what he was doing, but it felt so good nevertheless; his tongue was desperate to explore, moving fast inside these new surroundings, and it was so shocking he forgot to breathe. Then Malfoy’s tongue found his and they clashed together, intertwined, moving swiftly and smoothly, and it was so warm and wet and baffling, Harry thought he could do it forever.

He had to break contact though as his lungs begged for air, and Malfoy used this time to pull him up so he was sitting again, hips flush against Malfoy’s. Soon they were kissing again, Harry’s tongue finding its way far quicker this time, and it felt like the blond was waiting for him. The tongue inside his mouth was licking and swerving and sending electrical shocks up and down his spine. He tasted like smokey whiskey with a hint of lemon, and it was the sweetest taste ever. Harry was unaware of what his hands were doing until he found them trailing the boy’s sides, grabbing him tightly and squeezing him to his own body. Malfoy gasped again, and Harry moaned with pleasure, pushing the boy’s head backwards to better his angle. The kiss got deeper, somehow; warmer, faster, as their tongues were dancing together, or maybe fighting… it was the most exhilarating sensation he had ever felt; Malfoy’s hands were on him, one working its way under his shirt, and the feeling of the cold fingers on his warm skin drove him crazy – 

He rose upwards, tongue still completely entangled with its counterpart, and holding Malfoy with both hands he pushed him backwards so the boy was lying on the sofa, Harry coming to lie on top of him. Malfoy complied with his movement, sliding backwards to let Harry’s body fit better, and now they were pressed so tightly together, Harry’s heart actually stopped beating. One of Harry’s hands sent out to Malfoy’s face, cupping his cheek in his palm, and the other went up and down on his chest, climbing under his shirt, finding the smooth skin underneath. He remembered seeing Malfoy shirtless, and that made his already foggy mind even foggier. Everything in his body was on fire; a shaky, tingly fire that sent him moaning and almost leaping at the boy, sliding ever so deeply into his mouth.

But then Malfoy stopped being submissive and started to fight him; Harry groaned deeply as Malfoy grabbed his waist and pushed him up, twisting him around and throwing him onto his back. He was grumbling about the lack of contact as their lips broke apart, but soon Malfoy’s hands under his shirt made him forget everything as they rubbed his chest, grabbing him, and then Malfoy bent down and kissed him with the speed and passion of a tropical storm. Harry accepted his tongue in willingly, sliding down to meet him, and when Malfoy leaned on top of him Harry could feel a very prominent bulge against his thigh – he gave an even deeper, guttural groan when it brushed against his groin, sending shooting stars down his spine – he was heaving, breathing in the blond in deep gulps, and when his hips thrashed over his again he moaned once more –

He had to get on top of him, now; he had to pin him and just grind him down – and as he was fighting to turn the boy around, he was greeted with similarly passionate pushing and shoving, and there was no way to resolve the issue as they both clambered to be on top, no way but – Harry rolled heavily and they both found themselves on the floor, gasping, separated. 

There were some very long, shaky moments when neither of them could catch enough air to even think properly. Harry felt the blood rushing to his cheeks, and even more so to his groin, which was half erect and tenting very clearly. The remains of the whiskey fog in his mind told him to just jump on top of the blond and continue kissing him like there’s no tomorrow, but there were other voices in his head now too. Voices that sounded less like a feral beast and more like himself. Voices that were starting to get very, very concerned.

“Shit, Malfoy – I’m sorry – “ he said, and it was a relief to hear he wasn’t slurring just as badly. He got up to a sitting position, but he did so too fast, and now the room was whirling around him. He rested his head on the sofa, closing his eyes. From his left he could feel the other boy getting up from the floor too. Terrible feelings of shame and fear washed over him, sobering him up quickly. “I’m so sorry,” he said again, or barely whispered. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Malfoy said, still a little breathless. Harry dared to try and open his eyes. 

“But you didn’t want to,” he said, and he couldn’t quite keep the misery out of his voice. He tried so hard all day, and then he was stupid enough to let this happen. How could he do this? how could he let himself? “You said you didn’t want to. I - I made you do it.” He tried not to sound like it was the end of the world, but he kind of felt like it was.

“No, Potter,” Malfoy said softly, edging towards him. “I promised you, only when I wanted to. And –I did. I wanted to kiss you.”

“But why?” Harry nearly cried. 

“Because fucking look at you,” was the answer he got, and boy did that change his spirits quickly. He gave Malfoy a shy look.

“So you really – _really_ wanted to?”

“Yes,” Malfoy whispered, putting his hand on Harry’s shoulder. “I’ve wanted to do it all day. But I didn’t because – I still don’t know exactly – “

Harry nodded, and was aghast to realize there were tears in his eyes. Merlin, does Firewhiskey make everyone a crying baby? “That’s okay. You don’t need to explain anything. We can do whatever you want.”

“Thank you,” he heard the soft reply, and then Malfoy’s head dropped on his shoulder. “God damn it, Potter, you are too fucking _good_.”

It sounded like such an insult coming from his mouth, Harry couldn’t help but laugh. His laughter seemed to calm Malfoy down, and soon he started chuckling too. Slowly, carefully, he got up to his feet and offered a hand to Harry. He just stared at him for a second, at that flushed face, the straight almost-silvery hair, the grey eyes twinkling so affectionately at him. He just couldn’t believe how lucky he was. Maybe it was still the drink in him. With a long sigh he grabbed the proffered hand and got up, stumbling a little as he led Malfoy up to his room.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sexual content up ahead between two guys! About time, wouldn't you say? If you don't want the detailed experience, please avoid the section marked by asterisks.

He wasn’t exactly ill when he got up, but a little queasy. It took Harry a few confused moments before he remembered what happened last night, and tore the blinds around his bed. Yep, there was Malfoy, just where he’d left him. Peeking a little uncomfortably, Harry saw he was wearing his pajamas.

Relieved, he sank back into bed, thinking fast. Last night he and Malfoy kissed, but it wasn’t exactly like their previous kisses. It was… he blushed immediately at the very thought. But Malfoy was still unsure of what he wanted, still confused with the whole situation. Not that Harry felt more at ease with it, not even close. He knew that he has to take it slow, for both their sakes.

Sighing heavily he got up again, holding his sore head. Malfoy seemed to be waking up as well, staring at him through one open eyelid. “Morning,” Harry said gravely, hardly daring to look at the blond.

“Morning, Potter,” he heard the quick response, and shuddered a little at the fact that he was shirtless. He could feel the grey gaze on his body. quickly he dove into his case and pulled on a shirt.

“Did you, er, sleep okay?” he asked in a neutral tone, sitting again on his bed and staring at his own hands uncomfortably. 

“Like a baby,” Malfoy said smoothly, and Harry heard the sheets rustle as he left the bed. Then he gave a startled yelp as Malfoy sat on _his_ bed instead, looking right at him. “You didn’t have any difficulties sleeping, I hope?”

Harry must have been as red as a tomato. “Nope, none at all,” he muttered, becoming even more crimson. He remembered only too well his erect member making it quite hard to fall asleep.

“Right,” Malfoy said softly, brushing his hair away from his eyes. “Well then, Potter. What’s our plan for today?”

“Not getting smashed is the number one item on the list,” he said, slowly getting up. He went to the window and gave the snowy grounds a thorough look. “We could go sledding on the hill near Hogsmeade, maybe. Or we could go down to the kitchens and sample their Christmas cookies. I’m sure they’d have some ready by now.”

Malfoy laughed, and Harry could feel the tension slowly leaving his body. if the Slytherin isn’t bothered by what’s happened last night, he shouldn’t be either. He felt courageous enough to look at him. “I was thinking, Potter, I should ask for my wand back. I think there is a chance Snape will agree now, seeing how… well, I just think he might. And then we could practice Occlumency, and… the other things.”

Harry felt a little jolt of dread course through him, but he nodded. He wasn’t sure what he was more worried about; Malfoy going to speak to Snape, them practicing Occlumency together, or the Unforgiveable curses he was actually considering attempting. All those concepts seemed almost equally ominous. 

“Breakfast first,” he said, pushing those frightening thoughts aside. “We can discuss the rest of the day later.”

As Snape wasn’t at the Great Hall for breakfast, or actually anywhere on the map that day, they had to postpone their plan, a thing for which Harry felt very fortunate. Instead they had a brilliant day sledding down the hill and skating on the frozen lake. It was uncanny just how elegant Malfoy was in any surrounding – whether he was spinning gracefully on the ice, or sliding down in great velocity. Everything he did seemed easy, light and smooth. Harry found himself just staring at him all through the day, amazed time after time by the sheen in his hair, the flush in his cheeks. He had never before seen Malfoy looking so – happy. He seemed like he was genuinely having fun. Even the shadows that normally haunted his eyes seemed less grave as they were frolicking about in the snow. Harry would have stayed out with him all day, all week even. If he could spend every single day of his life like this, he would probably be happy.

At some point they had to come back in, though, when it was getting too dark to see. They missed lunch, so by dinner time they were absolutely famished, and both rejoiced in the fact that once again Snape was missing and they could sit together. 

After eating their fill they stumbled back to the tower, both very heavy and hardly able to speak, and collapsed on the cozy sofas. There was no mention of the fact Malfoy has actually consented to sleep in Gryffindor for only one night; instead it seemed like an open agreement. For a long time they just stared comfortably at the fire, finding the silence between them both easy and natural. it didn’t feel odd anymore, to have this with Malfoy. Harry had come to expect it, even. He knew that when he was around Malfoy, he was at ease. They just understood each other, even without speaking. It was a connection quite different than the one he had with Ron and Hermione. Of course, he would give his life for them; the love he had for the both of them was stronger than any natural force in the universe. But the way he felt about Malfoy was… well, it was still complicated, and still brought him a lot of questions and concerns. But it was also easy in a way, easy and fun. And just… right. That was it: it felt right to be around him. Like he’d been missing something for a long, long time, and now he finally found it. whenever he saw the pale face brightening with a smile, he felt those annoying butterflies hitting the walls of his belly. He enjoyed being around him, enjoyed watching him happy.

God, could he be… no, that was too frightening to even consider. He shoved his thoughts deep down inside him, past his navel, all the way down to his toes. _I will not think about falling in love with Draco Malfoy. I will not_.

At some point they started playing exploding cards, but both boys were too tired and content, and ended up lying right back on the sofa and staring at the snowflakes dancing outside the window. 

“I wonder what Ron and Hermione are doing now,” Harry said quietly. He wasn’t sure if the other boy was awake or not, but he heard the little snort.

“I’m sure Granger is studying,” Malfoy said quickly, raising himself a little so he was looking at Harry. “And Weasley… who knows. Probably eating, if you ask me.”

Harry threw him a dirty look, but if he was being honest, Malfoy was most probably right. Hermione would be spending every minute she can studying. And Ron was at the Burrow with the excellent food cooked by Mrs. Weasley, so chances were he was spending a lot of his time wolfing it down. “What do you think Crabbe and Goyle are doing?”

There was a slightly evil spark in the grey eyes now. “Oh, there’s no mystery there. There are only two things those two do during holidays; eat and sleep.” He snickered a little to himself. “That’s what they do all year round, as well.”

Harry laughed, even though thinking about them gave him a bit of a nauseous feeling in his stomach. “Where do you reckon Snape is, then, Mr. know-it-all?”

Malfoy wasn’t laughing anymore. “I don’t know where he is, but I have a guess. I’d assume he’s in the company of our beloved Dark Lord. Perhaps receiving more news from him about the fate which awaits me.”

Harry trembled at the coldness of his voice. “Do you think your dad is there, too?”

“Undoubtedly. There’s nowhere else for him to go.”

“Malfoy,” Harry began to say, even though he wasn’t sure it’s a good idea. “Your father knows you were given a task. But if he knew you are being threatened, wouldn’t he try to help you? Do you think we should reach out to him and… ask for his help?” he couldn’t believe the way he sounded; almost like he was pleading. Malfoy snorted again. 

“If he’d be helping me it would only be to ensure I appease the Dark Lord, Potter, and he wouldn't be doing it for my behalf. I assure you he values his own neck far better than he does mine.” Harry couldn’t help but tremble again. 

“But he’s your father, Malfoy!”

“Yes, he is, and for a long time I thought that’s enough. I’m slowly beginning to realize it’s not. He was never a very good father, but all this time I thought he at least… loved me.” The last words were barely a whisper. Harry didn’t know what to say to that. He wanted to tell Malfoy that of course his father loves him, because what father doesn’t love his children? But it was as if his mouth was cursed shut. “I just hope he isn’t with her,” Malfoy added in a low voice, and Harry could see the fire reflecting in his gaze as he seemed to be looking somewhere else, far away. 

“With your mum? I thought you said he wouldn’t go to the Manor?”

“No, he probably wouldn’t. But it won’t be too far out of reach to suggest he would have her join him. And then she would be with the Dark Lord, as well.” The fear that must have engulfed him was visible on his face. He turned to look at Harry. “I don’t know what they would do to her, Potter. I don’t think they would hurt her right now, but – “ he paused, too horrified to continue. Harry slid down the sofa so he was sitting near him, and put a hand on his arm.

“She’s going to be alright,” he said blankly, because there was nothing else he could say. “They’re going to get her out, and she’s going to go into hiding for a little time, but she will be fine. And then I’d beat Voldemort, and everything will be okay again.”

Malfoy didn’t snort now. He straightened up in his seat and looked him right in the eyes. “Do you really think you could – face him? Do you really believe it?”

Harry nodded slowly. He felt like the next words he’ll say could be crucial. “I know I’m not a fully-trained wizard yet, but I have some things he will never have. Dumbledore believes I can do it, and so do I.” he didn’t add, 'because I have to'.

“If Dumbledore believes in you so, why isn’t he training you? Why isn’t he trying to help you, to teach you some things you’d probably need in order to succeed?” Harry jumped as he heard his own concerns mirrored back to him. He looked back at the fire, trying to peer inside himself.

“I think he is trying to teach me,” he said in a low voice, watching the embers crackle and gleam. “With this whole thing with you. I think he’s trying to show me something, to… teach me something I need to know. Something about kindness, and forgiveness, and – and love.” He felt his cheeks burn, but he was pretty sure he was right. Didn’t the headmaster practically tell him that last year? That his greatest power he possessed over Voldemort is love? 

Malfoy stared at him, maybe too stunned to speak. “That’s not going to be enough,” he whispered, his eyes huge. “Potter, that’s not enough to beat him.”

“I know, it’s not all of it. It’s just an important part.” He didn’t know if he was trying to convince Malfoy, or himself. He didn’t know why he felt like he just made a huge and embarrassing confession. “But I know I can do this, Malfoy. With Dumbledore’s help, and Ron and Hermione’s, and… yours.”

“My help?” Malfoy echoed, his eyes impossibly even larger. “You’d… want me to help you?”

“Yes, if you agreed to,” Harry said, a little imploringly. “I think there’s a lot you can teach me, Malfoy. And if you were to – come with me – I think it’d improve our chances.”

“Come with you? Come where?” he asked softly, locking Harry's eyes on his. 

“I don’t know. Wherever we’d need to go. I don’t have a plan or anything yet, right now I’m just trying to finish school. But I think I’d like for you to join us.”

For a long moment Malfoy just looked at him, marveling at him like he couldn’t quite believe what he just heard. Then he lowered his eyes to the sofa, his eyes filled with an emotion Harry didn't recognize. “I don’t think you’d want me around anymore if you knew, Potter. I don’t think you’d even speak to me again.”

“Malfoy…” Harry said softly, but he shook his head.

“You need to know, Potter. You need to know what the Dark Lord tasked me to do. I need to tell you.”

He did kind of see it coming, but was still wholly unprepared for the agony with which the blond would proceed. “You don’t really,” Harry protested, but the boy only shook more fervently. Harry could not stand just how forlorn and depressed he looked. 

“No, I do. I have to. You deserve to know, and I don’t – “ he paused, overcome with sorrow, but then raised his eyes again. “I’m sorry. It’s not so easy for me. But you deserve to know.” It physically hurt him to see Malfoy this way.

“Are you going to do it?” Harry asked before he was even aware he was going to. 

“W-what?” Malfoy stammered, perplexed. 

“Are you going to do it? Are you going to perform the task?” His voice didn’t even sound like himself, it was about a full octave higher. 

“No,” Malfoy answered immediately, shocked. “No, of course not. I’ve – I’ve already told Dumbledore, and everything. I’m not going to do it.”

“But what if he can’t get your mother out?” Harry asked, miserable. He never wanted to bring this subject up, never wanted to make him say it, but there was no choice now. 

“If he can’t get her out – “ Malfoy started, speaking very slowly and heavily, like he was forcing every syllable out of his mouth, “then I’d – I don’t know what I would do. But I would not perform the task. I could not. Never.”

“So you don’t need to tell me,” Harry was positively shaking with relief. “If you’re not going to do it anyway, then there’s no point.” He felt like he’s dodged a very heavy bullet. it was so obvious from the expression on the pale face that it would absolutely crush him to tell Harry. He wanted to avoid it as much as he could. Malfoy let out a sigh of relief.

“Are you sure? You – trust me? Just like that?”

“Yes,” Harry answered simply. He was a bit scared that if he said more, it’d come out as a sob. 

“I – you’re – it’s –“ Malfoy was completely flustered. He seemed only more lost now than he did before. Not having anything to say, maybe for the first time ever, he just bent and placed his head on Harry’s chest, breathing heavily. Harry grabbed him, pulling him into a tight hug, and they stayed like this for a long time; the boy shivering in his arms, and Harry silently squeezing him in, trying very hard to keep the burning in his eyes from forming into tears.

***

Snape wasn’t around the next few days, and there was really no way to practice anything without Malfoy’s wand, so they just had to spend the time doing other, far more relaxed things. Harry had gotten so used to having him at his side, so used to how he suddenly seemed all happy and smiley and calm. The bags under his eyes disappeared, and he seemed better fed than he did all year. He was genuinely happy just to be around, Harry came to realize, and that on its own made him happier than he ever felt in his life. 

The shift between them happened one evening, the night before Christmas Eve. He and Malfoy played chess till they got bored, and now Malfoy was laying on his bed (Ron’s bed, Harry had to remind himself) reading a book, and Harry was on his own bed, watching him. He felt like the blond was aware of his glance, because the edges of his lips quivered. At long last he couldn’t take it anymore and looked at Harry. “What is it now, Potter?”

Harry was a little startled. He played with the hem of his shirt, desperate to employ his hands somehow. “Nothing. Why?”

“Well you’re only staring at me for the past five minutes,” the Slytherin retorted snidely. “And you have that look in your eyes.”

“What? What look?”

“Oh, you know. The look.” Harry most definitely did _not_ know what he was talking about. He cocked an eyebrow at him and gave the blond his best confused look. “Cut the crap, Potter. You’ve been undressing me with your eyes. It could not have been any clearer.”

“I was not!” Harry yelped indignantly. Malfoy only chuckled in response. “I was absolutely not! I was just looking at you to see – to see if you’re doing okay. I mean this isn’t your room and all, and I just wanted to make sure you were… comfortable.”

“Comfortable?” Malfoy smirked. Then he slammed the book shut and got up, walking slowly towards Harry. He landed quite hard on the mattress, sitting right next to him. “I’m not very comfortable, no.”

“W-why not?” Harry asked, with only a little bit of his power to speak left. He was nearly out of breath due to the proximity of the boy. He swallowed hard when the pale face grew even nearer.

“I’m a little hot,” Malfoy replied innocently, though his smile was devilish. “You Gryffindors sure like to heat your dorms. It is always far cooler in Slytherin.”

“That’s because you’re all cold-blooded snakes,” he tried to say, but he wasn’t sure the words were coming out right. Malfoy had a point; it was very hot in here. He felt sweat actually dripping down his back, and his face was almost on fire. Malfoy was just _too_ close.

“I don’t think that’s why,” he taunted, batting his eyelashes. “And you are way too hot blooded to be sleeping in such a boiling room.”

“It’s not usually so hot in here,” Harry said, utterly baffled. He had no idea what he was saying. The blond came nearer still, his forehead nearly meeting Harry’s, their noses brushing. 

“So do you think it’s because of me?” he asked, and Harry could feel the words on his lips. Sparks shot up and down his body, and it was way too stifling for him to think straight. He could just stare as the lips got even closer to him, meeting his softly and closing on them. 

Then they were kissing again, and Harry had no idea how he got there; Malfoy’s tongue was dancing in his mouth, interlocking with his, twirling around it and burning his brain to smoldering ruins. He groaned as the boy placed a hand on the back of his neck, the other hand pushing his chest down. Malfoy’s body was coming on top of his hard, and he had no choice but to let him, leaning back more and more until his back caught the mat. Harry arched up to meet him, breathing him deeply through his nose, writhing with sweat.

He had no idea what to do, but his body seemed to be taking charge. His throat kept emitting a low sort of sound, his skin sizzled and tingled everywhere Malfoy’s hands touched, and all he knew was that he has to be near him, now. He has to touch him, has to feel him, or he would surely combust into flames. Somewhere in another planet Malfoy was removing his glasses and putting them god-knows where, but Harry was too busy dying with joy, with a fierce need he never felt before and couldn’t even imagine feeling. Malfoy, a deep voice in him hummed, and all of Harry’s body ached for it. Malfoy. He wanted it so much he was scared.

But Malfoy’s tongue in his mouth, Malfoy’s hands on his body, showed him there was nothing to be scared of. This was not just good, and it was so unbelievably right; every caress of those soft fingers digging through his hair, running under his shirt, was sending him into another universe. Harry was high on it, lost in his newfound desire, and there was nothing he wanted more than… well, than more. He wanted more. Trembling fingers found Malfoy’s shirt fabric and pulled, and then the boy on top of him was naked from the waist up, and whatever was left of Harry’s functioning brain-cells wavered. His hands reacted immediately, unsurprisingly, tracing his abs, the silky skin of his chest and back. This was heaven. This was – 

Harry stopped moving at once, panting somewhat hysterically. _Wait. Think_. The last thing he wanted to do was force Malfoy into doing something he didn’t want. The thought actually hurt in his stomach. “W-what are we doing?” he asked when he finally had enough air. 

“What we should have been doing a long time ago,” Malfoy answered softly, kissing Harry’s closed lips.

“But – but do you really want to – “

“Fuck, Potter, yes. I want to.” He lay flat against Harry’s chest and looked down at him with bloody affection that made for a warm surge down his abdomen. “Is this okay?”

“Y-yes,” Harry whispered, tensing as Malfoy’s knee rubbed against his groin. He thought his head might explode. 

“Are you sure?” the blond whispered in his ear. And then he was _in_ his ear, tongue dragging over the helix and sucking lightly on the lobe. Harry shuddered all over, Malfoy’s heavy breathing tickling in his ear, his whole body writhing desperately. 

“God, please, yes,” he groaned, and that was all it took. 

Malfoy resumed writhing on top of him, his tongue licking and sucking Harry’s neck and collarbone until he could sing with it; he had goosebumps all over, and his prick was getting uncomfortably restrained in his jeans. With a great jolt he rolled on his stomach, pinning Malfoy down with both hands, grinding down without having the slightest idea what he was doing. But it was Malfoy who was underneath him, his damn Malfoy, and Harry was elated. He took a moment admiring the sight; his blond hair pooled on the mat, his grey eyes glimmering, his smile… Harry’s heart stopped. His smile.

For longer than he even knew, all he wanted was to kiss that smile. Well, now he could, and it only took a millisecond to spring into action; he swooped down, kissing him eagerly, and Malfoy chuckled and let him in. This was the best thing he ever did in his life – screw that cooky tournament, fighting Dementors, killing Tom Riddle’s memory – this was the real deal; holding Draco Malfoy in his arms and kissing him like there was nothing else in the world that could matter. 

He pulled back for air, staring at the miraculous thing underneath him, then wasted no time going back. His lips landed somewhere on Malfoy’s neck, kissing him softly, then doing that sucking thing Malfoy did before that made him lose his peace of mind. Malfoy seemed to be experiencing a similar feeling, because he gave a low, guttural moan that shot straight to Harry’s crotch, sending ripples of warmth all over his lower belly. Harry only sucked harder, squeezing the soft skin with his lips, and Malfoy shuddered and groaned underneath him. Harry’s need to be close to him, to have every inch of his body touch him, was becoming desperate. He felt the pressure building in his groin, and sent an automatic hand down Malfoy’s body, stroking his thighs, the bulge in the crease of his trousers. Malfoy let out a low, guttural groan that threatened to make Harry come and opened his eyes, giving him a wide smile. 

This was fucking it. Harry’s body turned to jelly, and he couldn’t even fight when Malfoy turned him on his back and landed on him hard. In the mad battle of their writhing Harry’s shirt has gone amiss, and he nearly lost his breath too when Malfoy’s hands suddenly stopped caressing his sides and moved on to unzipping his jeans. His cock gave a twitch upon being released from its denim cell, and now Malfoy was on him again – holding him – hands traveling south – Harry’s breath hitched – and then one hand was in his pants. 

Harry could have come there and then; the soft fingers curling around his aching cock was a sensation he had only dreamt about before. It was nothing like touching himself – Malfoy’s hand was a different world altogether, inquisitive, excited, eager. He stroked Harry’s shaft softly, lightly fingering his balls, skimming the sensitive skin underneath them before fisting Harry’s cock and going in earnest. Harry’s hands shot to his own hair, pulling and twisting, his thighs spreading uncontrollably. Behind his eyelids Harry saw stars exploding, supernovas bursting into space, and Malfoy’s hand on him was both searing hot and pleasantly cool. 

Harry’s breath became ragged as the hand moved faster, yanking him up and down, sending flaming arrows through his back. He shut his eyes tightly, unable to suppress the deep, loud moans. Then, as it wasn’t enough: “M-Malfoy…” the hand only worked faster, more furiously, and he felt like he might actually scream with pleasure. He gasped as he felt the rushing in his belly, in his thighs, in his balls; everything was tight and shaky and hot; and then with a huge cry he came, bright spots dancing in front of his eyes, and no oxygen at all in his brain. Every nerve ending in his body relaxed as he spilled hard into the boy’s hand, who kept milking him, making him shiver hard, till he was done.

Gasping heavily, suddenly exhausted, he dared to open his eyes. Malfoy was just there, beaming at him, and his heart gave a painful lurch as he nearly shot up to kiss him. Malfoy received him eagerly, kissing and licking his lips. Harry fell back down onto the bed and managed a hysterical little giggle. “Fuck, Malfoy,” he said at the end, hand covering his eyes. 

“Was it good?” he asked provocatively, although Harry knew he knew full well it was. Staring at him with disbelief, Harry could think of nothing else to say.

“Shit,” he swore instead, scratching his head. “That… yeah, it was amazing.”

Malfoy grinned and lay down next to him, stroking his bare chest lightly. “You’ve never had anyone do this to you before, have you?”

Harry shook his head, though he had a feeling he already admitted that to him. “Have you ever…?” his cheeks were burning and he found he’s unable to complete the question.

“Yes, but not very often,” Malfoy answered, and his lips were so close to his that Harry could feel the gust of wind as he spoke. In a quick movement he got up and slammed himself on the boy, pinning him down. Harry sent a tentative hand down, petting lightly the increased bulge at his crotch. Smiling he slithered down on the slightly sweaty body, until his head was level with the button of Malfoy’s trousers. 

“You don’t have to, Potter,” he said quickly, but Harry could feel the necessity in his voice. Regardless, he thought to himself, there’s hardly anything else he wanted to do right now. 

In a swift motion he took off Malfoy’s trousers, letting him release his feet by himself as he pulled down his boxers. He stared right at his erect cock, and a weird sensation stole over him, making him shiver slightly with desire. He sent his hand to grab at the other boy and heard his gasping when his fingers made contact. Smiling and gaining more confidence when seeing the deep red in his cheeks, Harry closed his palm around Malfoy, and was delighted to hear that low groan again. 

Slowly, methodically, Harry started to work his hand up and down. He was no stranger to the drill, really; only the notion of doing it to someone else was a novelty. But Malfoy was making such arousing noises, it was far more satisfying than touching himself; every time the boy moaned or shuddered, thrashed into his hand, he felt it go directly down there, sending pleasing shocks down his back. He began to pull faster and faster, hearing the boy’s breath hitch, feeling his own cock beginning to harden again. He disregarded the feeling, though, concentrating completely on Malfoy. Causing him to make _that_ face was absolutely head-spinning; Harry felt hotter than he did before, sweatier and more frantic. He quickened his pace even more, pulling at great strokes, and quickly the boy came hard into his palm with a loud yell. He shook and moaned for a few seconds, while Harry squeezed at him with all his might, then released him and wiped his hand on the blanket. 

“Gods, Potter,” Malfoy said a little shakily, running his hand through his hair. “One might think this wasn’t your first time.” Harry just smiled and buried his face in the groove of Malfoy’s neck.

***

They didn’t sleep in the same bed, as it would have been a little weird; afterwards they went to take a shower, separately, and Malfoy made his way back to Ron’s bed. But after being touched like that, Harry didn’t think it was possible to go back. As soon as the next morning he deposited himself on top of the Slytherin, who was only a little surprised to wake up to him, and accepted his fiery kiss with a grin. They twisted and slithered until they toppled off the bed, laughing all the while and never breaking contact. Harry gave Malfoy a hand job right there on the floor, and it must have been the most erotic thing he’s ever done, because when Malfoy gave him one minutes later it took him no time at all to come. They lay there for a few minutes, rolled up in each other like they would never let go, before they went for another shower and then down to breakfast. All day they were as close as possible to each other; sitting hip-touching-hip in the common room, pushing against each other as they walked the snowy grounds. It was becoming increasingly obvious to Harry that he could not let him go even for a second, even if he wanted to; he needed Malfoy touching him all the time. It was incredible and terrifying at the same time. He was absolutely elated, and equally mortified.

Since it was Christmas, they had a festive dinner in the Great Hall. It was the most bizarre event Harry had ever attended; there were only two professors, McGonagall and Sprout, and the nine students. They all sat around one small table in the center of the large room, and ate almost in silence. Harry couldn’t even look at Malfoy throughout the whole meal, since every time he met his gaze he fell into a fit of giggles. The food was as delicious as ever, but it wasn’t the same without Dumbledore laughing and pulling weird hats out of Christmas crackers. Harry was quite relieved when it was over and they could return to the comfort of the common room. When they walked in, still laughing at the terrified looks the younger students wore all night, they had a little surprise expecting them.

It was a brown owl, small and distraught looking, hopping around the room. When they arrived it stretched its wings and flew over to Malfoy, landing on his shoulder and offering him its legs. With hands shaking slightly Malfoy untied the scroll and the owl flew out of the open window and into the night.

Harry noticed he was trembling, whether because of the draft or not, he couldn’t tell. He shut the window as Malfoy uncurled the letter and read it, his eyes zooming over the words. 

“Who’s it from?” Harry asked carefully. Malfoy looked up at him, startled to realize he was still in the room. He seemed paler than ever.

“It’s from my aunt,” he said, staring at the parchment again. “It’s – a Christmas card, I suppose.”

“For some reason, Bellatrix doesn’t strike me as the type of aunt that sends her nephews holiday greetings.” Harry raised a suspicious eyebrow, and Malfoy expelled a shaky little laugh. 

“No, not really. It isn’t so much of a greeting, as such. More of a threat, I imagine.” He handed Harry the parchment. It only had one sentence written on it, in curly black writing.

_The Dark Lord is waiting, Draco._

Harry felt a shiver running all the way through his spine. He threw the card on the table, meeting the grey eyes with disgust. Malfoy seemed a little perturbed, but then he picked up the parchment and threw it straight in the fire. Harry watched as it sizzled and spattered, blackening into nothing. He saw the fire reflecting in the boy’s eyes near him, felt the emotion as if it was drifting from him. 

“Fuck you, aunt Bellatrix,” he said curtly before turning and heading upstairs. Harry smiled, feeling the little victory swirling inside him, and gave the ashes one last look before he followed Malfoy to the dorm.  



	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More smut (after the asterisks). After they've started, it's really hard to stop them!

The next morning they spotted Snape back in his dungeons, and Malfoy asked Harry to wait for him in Gryffindor while he goes to see him. “He still can’t know a thing,” he begged when Harry seemed reluctant. “He’s not going to do anything, anyway. I’m just going to ask for my wand, and he’d give it to me. It won’t take ten minutes.”

But it took more than ten minutes, or time must have stopped altogether as Harry paced the common room, his concern only growing more and more acute. Malfoy did return, though, eventually, and Harry could let out a sigh of relief. There was a slight pink tinge to his pale cheeks, but he held out his wand victoriously. Harry found it somewhere in him to smile.

“We can practice now, then,” he said, although the words were far from cheering. Malfoy nodded and gave him a serious look.

“Are you sure you want to do this, Potter? You don’t have to. We could ask Dumbledore to do it, or someone else. You don’t have to do it with me.”

“No, it’d be best with you,” Harry muttered, and it was the truth. He couldn’t picture someone he’d rather do it with. Malfoy nodded again.

“I think we better start with Occlumency, because you’d need all your energy for that. The other curses are less strenuous, only more… emotional, maybe.” He cleared his throat and looked around. “Would you like to do it here? Or in the Room of Requirement?”

That was a good question, one that Harry hadn’t anticipated. He gave it a thought. “Maybe there would be better. We don’t really want the others to walk in on us while we try to perform magic that could land us in Azkaban.” Malfoy chuckled, and together they started making their way. It was silent for a minute, then Harry couldn’t hold himself back anymore. “So how was Snape, anyway?”

There was a tiny bit of a smirk on the Slytherin’s face. “He was fine, Potter. He didn’t say much.”

“Ah, but he did say something? Did he tell you where he was all this time?”

“Not in so many words. He did convey the idea he was at the Dark Lord’s side. He said my father sends me his best wishes.” There was more than just a little doubt in his tone.

“Did he argue about giving you back your wand?”

Malfoy was avoiding his gaze. “No, no problem there. Here we are, Potter.” They walked past the wall three times and into what Harry learned to think of as ‘their room’. It gradually became less and less red, and hints of green started to appear in it, but he gave it no mind. He felt at ease in that room with Malfoy. He felt at home.

“So how are we going to do it?” He asked a little nervously as he sat down on his sofa. Malfoy sat in front of him this time, with the little coffee table between them. He looked at him very seriously.

“You've done it before with Snape, so you know what it's like when someone is trying to invade your mind. It is a highly disturbing feeling, one that your every instinct will fight against. But you must control yourself, for instinct alone cannot help you.” He took a deep breath. “You must concentrate. The general aim is to quieten your mind, to ease your thoughts. Once you achieved that, you will be able to block anything. You would be able to do Legilimency, too.”

“Quieten my mind? Do you mean like, meditate?” the edges of Malfoy’s lips were slanted upwards.

“Yes, Potter. Meditate. Empty your mind, try to think of nothing. I doubt that should be such a challenge for you.” Harry was going to say something snide back, but he saw the amused glint in the grey eyes, and grumbled instead.

“How do I do it, Malfoy? How do I _empty my mind_ ?”

“Try focusing on your breath,” the Slytherin instructed, closing his eyes. Harry stared at him for a second before following his lead. “Think about the air coming in and out of your body. Listen to the noises it makes, feel the vibrations inside you.” Harry took a deep breath and tried to do as he was told. He focused on the air coming into his body, the motions his chest was making. He was also painfully aware of the boy sitting in front of him, of the fire crackling, of the gentle buzzing of some protection device the room has supplied. Concentrating seemed impossible, and the more he tried, the far worse it became. “Come on, Potter, focus. Only listen to the sound of your own breath.”

“I’m trying, but there’s this annoying prat breaking up my concentration,” Harry replied, annoyed. It wasn’t exactly true; it wasn’t Malfoy that was making it difficult. Sighing, the boy in front of him got to his feet and sat next to him on the sofa. Harry looked at him a little timidly.

“Close your eyes,” Malfoy instructed softly. Harry swallowed hard before he obeyed, feeling his entire body tensing up. Malfoy sighed again. He put both hands on Harry’s abdomen, and the warm, unexpected touch made him surge upwards. “Relax, Potter. It's just me. I touched you before.” Harry felt his breath coming in hot, but it was true. Malfoy has touched him before. And he quite liked being touched by him. Slowly, his breathing became less hysterical and more relaxed. He could feel the hands steady on his stomach.

“Focus on my touch, Potter. Focus on the warmth of my hands. Think of nothing else.”

It was difficult, but not as much as before. Thinking about Malfoy’s hands was all he wanted to think about, anyway; it was far easier to concentrate on than his own damned breathing. He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling himself becoming more and more relaxed. The hands remained very still on his body, and Harry had no problem envisioning them there, the long thin fingers, the pale smooth skin. He thought about the person to whom they belonged, but then zoomed back to the hands. Only they existed, only they mattered. He took a few slow, long breaths.

“Excellent, Potter. You are doing it. Feel your mind calming, your body letting go. This is the feeling you want to have when you're trying to block someone from reaching into your head.” The hands left him and suddenly Harry felt very vulnerable, fragile even. He opened his eyes in alarm but Malfoy was still right next to him, and he took a long, startled breath. Malfoy placed a hand on his arm. “It’s all right, Potter. You're doing great. I'm here with you.” Harry nodded, not quite sure what brought on this strange panic.

“So I – that's what I need to do? Focus on something, and then it’s like I’m focused on nothing?”

“Well, in a manner of speaking, yes. But you must focus on something that is natural to you, that takes no thinking about. Like your own breathing, on which you need not think in order to do. Or –“

“Or you touching me,” Harry continued, and he wasn’t sure which one of them was actually more red.

“Er, yes. Or me touching you.” He cleared his throat and looked at him, a little warily. “Do you think you're ready to try?”

Harry nodded, although he was feeling very far from ready. He tried not to look too downcast as he raised his head and took a deep breath. “Let’s do it.”

“Okay. I’m going to give you a few seconds to clear your mind again, and then I'll begin. Remember, Potter; it’s really not so complicated. Just think about something that is naturally a part of you. Think about it, until you think of nothing.”

Harry nodded, shutting his eyes again. He tried to think of something to focus on, but his mind was oddly blank. What was a part of him, on which he didn’t need to think? And how come, in Merlin’s beard, Malfoy touching him was something he found so natural?

“I'm going to start,” the soft voice warned, and Harry tensed all over. He tried to focus on something hysterically, anything – his leg, the blackness of his inner eyelids, something – but it was too late; already he was flung miles back and into a very different place.

He was at the Department of Mysteries, running as fast as he could, while Death Eaters filled the long halls of dusty orbs – _no!_ – the brains got Ron and he was so pale – _no, no, no_ … - Hermione was hit by that silenced spell and she fell to the ground - _NO!_ – Sirius was laughing –

“Potter, you have to relax! Relax your mind, think of nothing!” Harry found himself curled almost into a ball on the sofa when Malfoy lifted the spell. He gave him a very concerned look, but Harry was too furious to consider anything.

“I can’t do it!” he nearly shouted, throwing his hands in the air. “I’m rubbish at this, Malfoy! I can’t do it even if it’s you teaching me. I’ll never get it right.”

“No, Potter, that’s not true. You already had it right before, you can do it again – “

“But you weren’t trying before! You weren’t attacking me when I succeeded, so of course I could do it no problem!”

“It doesn’t matter, Potter. It makes no difference; once you got the technique, and you are able to concentrate enough, it doesn’t matter if someone is actively trying to invade your mind or not. You will learn to do it all the time, without even noticing. Hell, I’m doing it right now.”

“You are?” Harry asked, and his surprise was enough to subdue his anger. Malfoy nodded.

“Yes. Ever since I learned how to do it, I have been doing it non-stop. It's the only way I was able to survive the many encounters with Snape. Although of course, as you know, it didn’t help me much with the Dark Lord.”

“So you're using Occlumency even when they aren’t there?” Harry had no idea if he was impressed or mortified. The blond nodded again.

“One has to, if one wishes to remain in total control. Of course, I don’t block everything when I meet with Snape, so he isn’t aware I am doing it. I leave the safe thoughts out in the open to ease his mind.” Harry gaped at him.

“That’s genius, Malfoy.”

“Well, you can learn to do it too, but you must let go of your mental block of this task. There is something in you that is so against the whole concept, it's not letting you even attempt it.” He gave him a soft kind of look. “You are more than capable to do it, so stop fighting it. Let yourself go.”

Harry nodded, and there was something warm and sticky in his throat that was rather distracting. Harry wondered if that was something that he could focus on. “Okay, let’s do it again.” He tried to breathe in and out forcefully, so that it occupies his mind more. He heard Malfoy take a deep breath too.

“Ready – and go.” The silent spell hit him, and though he was more prepared for it this time, he still knew immediately he hadn’t done it. Memories blurred all around him – Sirius’s laughing face, Wormtail’s cackle as he fled, Neville’s broken nose, Lucius’s grey eyes too close to him – and he shook hard, throwing Malfoy out of his mind, aghast.

“You did it, Potter! You were able to block me, in the end! I mean you did use your wand, but it was still something!”

“Yes,” Harry said, still breathing rather hard. If Malfoy saw his own father chasing Harry, he said nothing of it. “I – it was clearer to me this time. It felt less like I was in it, more like I was… viewing it from the outside. Like a movie.”

“A what?” Malfoy asked curiously, toying with his wand. Harry smiled.

“Never mind, it’s a Muggle thing. Give me a second, I need to find something else to focus on.” Malfoy nodded and waited as Harry looked around. It wasn’t that much different than thinking of a happy memory in order to summon a Petronus. He just needed to think hard and focus, that’s all. And it is only Malfoy in front of him, not Snape who was only ever looking to hurt him. He felt himself calming steadily. He took another couple of deep breaths. “Okay.”

There was no warning this time, but Harry was somewhat better prepared. The memories seemed blurry, like a poor-quality video; things were jumping rather unintelligibly around. Harry recognized with some difficulty that he was looking at the graveyard, at Cedric’s dead body. Then Voldemort was in front of him, and his red eyes were suddenly sharpening and becoming almost too close, too real –

With a scream of anguish he tore out of the memory, throwing himself head first at the carpet, only narrowly missing the table. He heard Malfoy saying something in the distance, but he wasn’t able to comprehend. He had to take a moment to calm his tense body before he could straighten up and resume his seat. Malfoy looked at him with utter concern.

“Maybe we should stop for now, Potter. You made some definite progress today, and I know how exhausting it can be. We can try again tomorrow, after you’ve had some rest.” Harry gave him an incredulous look.

“What? No! I have to get this right. I was so close this time, I could feel it. I just – wasn’t concentrating hard enough…” he ran a hand through his hair, deep in thought. “I hadn’t thought about that night in a while. With Diggory and – him.” His mouth felt awfully dry.

“That was the night he returned?” Malfoy asked quietly, and Harry nodded.

“The Triwizard Tournament. The trophy was a portkey. It took us straight to him.” There was a certain shakiness to his voice he really did not care for.

“And you fought him there,” Malfoy supplied, and Harry could feel the grey eyes on him like warm lasers. “And survived, once more.”

“Not thanks to anything I did, though,” Harry’s hand moved faster through his hair. “I wouldn’t have made it out if it wasn’t for my wand. I just escaped by the skin of my teeth.”

“I heard you were quite brave, standing up to him,” Malfoy mumbled. Harry chanced a fleeting look; the grey eyes were now fixated on the rug. “You actually meant to duel him. A fourteen-year-old wizard, against the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters.”

“Well there wasn’t much ruddy else for me to do, was there?” Harry was becoming a little annoyed again. “He wanted to fight me, so I had to fight. If the whole twin-core thing hadn’t happened, I would have been dead.”

Malfoy didn’t ask for further explanations about the wand incident, so Harry gathered he had already heard about it. From his father, most likely. His father that was one of the hooded figures in the mocking crowd when he was forced to fight on a broken ankle. “But you – “

“Look, Malfoy, it doesn’t matter, all right? Your damn father told you everything that happened, you don’t need me to repeat it. He and his precious Dark Lord had me cornered, and I only just managed to escape. So do you think you can just shut up about it already?” Harry was really on edge. He was very abruptly reminded of the fact that he was actually sitting in front of someone who was raised by a Death Eater, someone who in himself had received a task from Voldemort. “Maybe we really should give this thing a rest for now. Maybe we should do something else instead.”

Malfoy seemed a little shaken at his outburst, but he didn’t say anything. Instead he used his wand to summon a jar and placed it on the table. “I’ve kept them ever since you said you wanted to practice,” he said in a measured tone. “If you still wish to do that.”

Harry could only stare at the cockroaches in the jar, utterly appalled. He completely forgot they ever discussed trying the Unforgiveable curses. He took a slow breath, thinking hard.

These curses were illegal, and for a good reason. Maybe Dumbledore never taught him how to use them on purpose, because he didn’t think Harry should know them. What was he doing, anyway? Letting an almost Death-Eater teach him dark magic? Could he even trust him enough for that?

But then he raised his glance to meet Malfoy, and was wholly rattled. It became clear to him in a moment that yes, he did trust him. Not only trust; he needed him, wanted him. If Malfoy thinks it is for the best… and he did have a point about meeting Voldemort in the end… he sighed.

“All right. Teach me.”

***

The Unforgiveable curses were quite different than Occlumency, which Harry was for the first time in his life starting to get. He became pretty good at deflecting Malfoy’s attempts at invading his mind, and in the odd time the boy had succeeded, he could push him out rather easily. He was not, however, making any progress with the Unforgiveables.

“You have to really mean it, remember,” Malfoy said tersely. It was the night before New Year’s Eve, and they were both getting quite frustrated. “You have to give it all of your intention, all of your desire.”

“But I don’t _want_ to hurt this cockroach,” Harry said, desperate. “I don’t want to hurt anything, Malfoy. Why the hell would I ever want to?”

“Do you wish me to transfigure the insect so it wears my aunt’s face?” Malfoy asked, really not amused. “Or the Dark Lord’s? So you remember what it is we are trying to achieve here?”

Harry considered it for a second, then shook his head with disgust. “Merlin, no. I don’t want to see that, I’ll have nightmares for weeks. Look, Malfoy…” he sighed. “We should just let it go. I’m never going to be able to do it here. You’ve taught me the technique, so I know the basics; now all I need to do is face him and… and it will work somehow.”

Now it was the Slytherin’s turn to sigh. “It doesn’t work like that, Potter. Until you’ve mastered the torture curse, you will not be able to perform the killing curse. and you can’t count on some spur of the moment genius every time. You need to be prepared.”

Harry shrugged. “I can’t do it, Malfoy. I just can’t.”

“Come on, try. Just one more time.” Harry took a deep breath and pointed his wand at the bug. It was flailing rather helplessly and one of its antennas was broken. Harry felt for it, before trying to shove those emotions aside and leave nothing but his burning rage. He still could access those feelings he had earlier this year, although they seemed much further away. He squinted his eyes and tried to imagine Snape’s face on the insect.

“Crucio,” he said, and a green light emerged from his wand and hit the bug square on. It made a nervous little twitch, then started running away towards the edge of the table. Harry sighed once more. ”See, Malfoy? It’s not going to work. Come on, it’s late, let’s just give it a rest.”

Malfoy bit his lip then resigned with a shrug. “We can try again tomorrow, I suppose. Maybe we will give the transfiguring idea a go.” He started saying something else, but then Harry landed on the sofa next to him, and his lips sealed shut.

“What do you say, sir?” Harry asked innocently. “Are we done learning for today?”

The pale cheeks grew a shade darker and a thin smile pursed Malfoy’s lips. “I don’t know, Potter. You’ve not quite satisfied your professor yet.”

Harry’s grin only grew wider. “Is that right? What could I do to rectify that, sir?” he moved quickly, straddling Malfoy’s lap, arms stretching around his back. Malfoy’s arms shot immediately to hold him, his eyes twinkling.

“I do have a few ideas,” he whispered softly, before Harry’s tongue was in his mouth and he was rendered speechless.

It was hard to say what they spent more time on; practicing or making out. If Harry had his way, they would hardly need their wands at all. What he wanted to do all day was to just devour Malfoy best he could. He was absolutely insatiable. The other boy had no complaints.

In a swift motion, Malfoy hoisted Harry off of him and sat him on the sofa, spreading his legs apart. “I want to try something,” he whispered in Harry’s ear, unbuttoning Harry’s shirt as his tongue found the bare skin of his chest, then sliding onto his knees between Harry’s thighs. He undid Harry’s zipper quickly, lowering his trousers to his ankles. then, without a trace of hesitation, he pulled Harry’s boxers off.

Although he has seen him before, it was still a little embarrassing for Harry, as Malfoy’s face was inches away from his rapidly hardening member. He wondered with a shaky breath if the blond is actually going to do what Harry was thinking he is going to do. What Harry was only dreaming he would do. But then –

Malfoy’s mouth closed around the tip of his cock, and Harry went limp. He sank into the sofa, eyes shutting immediately, gasping in surprise. The feeling of warm, silky tightness around him was almost too much to bear. His whole body shook as Malfoy licked the underside of his length, grabbing the base with one hand. Then he swallowed more of him in, and Harry’s entire nervous system was in a frenzy, tingling and shivering all over. His head was spinning in a startling speed. The new sensations Harry could only ever dreamed of were taking him by absolute shock, sending spiraling tornados down his spine, all through his body. Starts glistened behind his eyelids as he felt the tongue gliding on his skin, melting his brain into fine hot liquid. And then Malfoy sucked, and Harry gave a muffled groan as his hips pushed forward involuntarily. Malfoy backed up immediately, gagging.

“Slow down, boy,” he smirked, his other hand sending to Harry’s thighs to hold him in place as his tongue returned to swerve and suck around his cock. Harry brought both hands to his face, one covering his eyes, the other running through his hair, his breath hot and ragged. He pushed his thighs further apart to allow Malfoy more room, and that was all he could do before he sunk into that incredible, unbelievable feeling that coursed through his entire body. He had no idea who he was anymore, what was happening around him; only the mouth around his cock as Malfoy pulled more and more of it into his mouth; only that warmth that was shaking his very core, the tightness in his lower belly.

His breath hitched when the blond opened his mouth as if he was trying to swallow him whole. He wasn’t too far off, Harry suspected, or at least he would have if he were able to form a coherent thought. He was breathless and sweaty and dizzy. The miraculous, flexible tongue drove flaming arrows down his spine as it engulfed him, running over the head, up and down it. Every movement Malfoy’s mouth made sparked every nerve in his body, and his muscles were seizing up uncontrollably. He couldn’t fight as his hips fought to thrust forward into him, as his legs shot sideways. His hands fell down to the sofa, fingers grabbing the material like a lifeline. “Fuck, Malfoy,” he mumbled, unable to contain himself any longer, then he gave a loud moan, sinking lower on the couch, shivering. “Fuck!”

Harry simply could not get enough of it. Malfoy’s mouth around him was so hot and smooth and slick, and it was moving faster and faster, and Harry never felt so _tight_ – then another sucking motion drove him mental and he gasped, eyes shooting open. He could see the blond hair thrashing about, and to remember that it was Malfoy down there, just like he fantasized about, doing this, touching him like that –

He wasn’t going to be able to last much longer, he knew, losing himself completely in the utter pleasure. Malfoy was feeling it, perhaps, as he was bobbing his head up and down faster, his hand supporting the base moving at the same speed. “I’m going to… Malfoy, I’m going to come…” he didn’t seem to have heard him, or maybe he did, for there seemed to be something almost ferocious in the way he tightened his hold on him. Then he sucked again, letting his tongue swivel around the tip, and Harry came in a scream as the world dissolved into fuzzy black spots.

He was panting breathlessly, the room still spinning unbalanced around him. Malfoy swallowed lightly, and Harry could do nothing but stare at him, eyes wide with shock, heart fluttering faster than ever before. It took a long while until he had enough air to say anything. “Where did you learn to do that?” was all he could bring himself to ask.

“Oh, here and there,” Malfoy smiled and replied, although that was really no answer at all. Harry stared at him until he chuckled. “I’ve never done it, if that’s what you’re asking. But Pansy did it to me a couple of times, so I guess I picked up some tricks from her.” He pulled Harry’s boxers back up and tucked him in. Harry was too spent and shocked to do anything but let Malfoy move him, though he was smiling happily all the while.

“Well, you have to remind me to thank her sometime,” he said as Malfoy did his zipper up for him. “Maybe buy her a present or something.”

“Don’t give her too much credit, Potter. It was really mostly me who did this tonight.” His smile was brilliant; Harry wanted to hold him so bad, just smush him in his arms. He threw himself on him, pulling the boy from his knees and into Harry’s lap, holding him tightly.

“Well I plan to thank you in a completely different way,” he said into the soft skin of his neck, before sucking it lightly and causing the boy to moan and squiggle in his hold. “I suppose I could give this whole thing a try. You have taught me a lot already.” He released the blond’s waist and grabbed his face instead at the chin, turning it towards him then claiming his mouth. Malfoy opened to him willingly, eagerly, and Harry thought he must be the luckiest person in the world.

Then the door opened and all hell broke loose.  



	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Come on, you guys, it's the holidays. Just a short little chapter filled with sweetness.  
> By the way, I kind of forgot Draco's birthday is actually in summer, and for my devious intents he was given a winter birthday. Oops! Don't tell JK.

Harry was frozen for the longest moment, completely unable to move. It was Malfoy who finally jumped off of him, landing somewhat stickily on the sofa, eyes open in utter terror. Swallowing nervously, Harry tried to force his lips into saying something, but he failed. He closed his eyes in shame. 

“Er – we could come back later, Harry,” Hermione said in a tiny voice, already pushing Ron back out. “Yes, I think we will.”

“No, Hermione – wait – “ but it was too late; she had already closed the door behind them. Harry could only give Malfoy a quick look before he leapt to his feet and ran after them. “Hermione, Ron, wait!”

They stopped, a little further down the corridor than where he was, and it only took him a second to catch up to them. That was definitely not enough time to try and come up with something excusable to say. “So, had a good holiday, mate?” Ron asked wryly. 

“Look, I – what are you guys doing here?” he asked, a little outraged. They weren’t supposed to be back for another week!

“We thought we’d come around and celebrate New Year’s together, that’s all,” Hermione said. “We knew the castle would be very empty and we thought that you might, umm, appreciate the company.” Her eyes twinkled in a way he sorely did not appreciate. He was too aware of the fact his shirt was still unbuttoned.

“But it seems like you’ve been doing fine on your own,” Ron sniggered, and that was enough to set him off.

“Listen, Malfoy and I – what you saw back there – it’s not – “

“It’s all right, Harry. I told you before, we don’t care.” Hermione shrugged casually, but Harry wasn’t quite sure he believed her. Terrified he turned to look at Ron. he was convinced he was going to flip out, yell at him, curse him maybe. But Ron shrugged too, and Harry was absolutely gobsmacked.

“She’s right, mate. Honestly, we don’t mind. As long as you’re happy.”

“But – but he’s Malfoy – “ Harry had no way of processing this. He couldn’t be serious? 

“Yeah, I know. But he really has changed, and you’ve been getting along fine with him recently, so I guess he can’t be as big of a prat as I thought he is.” Ron smiled. “It could have been worse. I don’t think I could have been fine if it was Goyle, for example.”

Harry shook with repulsion, still not completely able to comprehend. “So you’re really – you’re okay with this?”

Ron shrugged again, and Harry found that he was actually starting to believe him. “Yep. Got no problems here. Although you should know that if he ever does anything to hurt you, I’d turn him right back into the ferret he always was.”

Queasy with relief, Harry slunk against the wall, unable to speak. Hermione put her hand on his shoulder. “So you guys have been spending the time all right?”

“Hermione, come on, we don’t need to hear _details_ !” Ron’s eyes grew wide, and Harry could now chuckle at that.

“Oh, Ron, that’s obviously not what I meant!” Hermione said with dignity. “I meant if they’ve been learning Occlumency!”

“Ah, that. Well, yes, we have,” Harry said sheepishly, but he was slowly regaining his cool. Hermione talking about learning, Ron squeamish about details – these were his friends, the people who knew him best in the world. And if they’re telling him they’re _fine_ with it, then they are _fine_ with it. he didn’t know his heart can do this weird, warm dance it was currently performing. 

“That’s great, Harry! I’m so glad to know. And I’m also glad you’ve taken the time to – er – get to know each other even better.” Her smile was rather devilish, but Harry was prepared for that now. He laughed. 

“Yes, we did that too. Got to know each other pretty well, I’d say.”

“Really?” Ron seemed a little ill. His blue eyes drove holes through Harry. “Did you – did you really - ?” his tone suggested absolute shock, and Harry caught Hermione’s surprised look.

“No!” he exclaimed in horror, eyes turning between his two friends. “No, we haven’t done that, you lunatics! We just – just a little bit of – “ but he really wasn’t going to explain any further, and in any case, Malfoy decided now was the right time to follow them out, and he stopped next to Harry.

“Granger, Weasley,” he nodded to them, and the two nodded back. Harry watched the startling image of the three being civil towards one another. it made his head reel. “Did you have a good break?”

“Yes, it went quite well,” Hermione said lightly, and Harry wanted to kiss her for making that effort. Ron was still a little grumpy, but he too muttered something about having a good time. 

“Well I am glad to hear,” Malfoy said, looking just as sheepish as the redhead. Hermione gave each of the boys a long look, then sighed. 

“Listen, I know this is a little awkward, but it really shouldn’t be. So Harry and Malfoy are dating now, that’s absolutely fine. We just need to get used to that.”

A look of dread passed across his face. Why was his mouth so dry all of a sudden? “We are not – I mean, we haven’t really discussed – that, yet.” His voice was way higher than his normal. Good God, he must get a grip on himself. Fortunately, Malfoy looked as red in the face as he felt. 

“Oh,” Hermione whispered, and now she was rather pink too. “I see. Well – maybe it’s best if Ron and I gave you some privacy. We can meet in the common room later. You can, er, bring Malfoy along.”

“I’ve frequented the Gryffindor common room before,” Malfoy replied weakly, with only a hint of a smirk in his eyes. Hermione’s eyebrows shot to her forehead, but she nodded. 

“See you later, then,” she said, and continued to push Ron away towards the staircase. Harry turned back to Malfoy, hands in his pockets, face burning.

“So…” he said, and that felt like the best he could do. Malfoy sniggered at him. 

“So,” he repeated, rather more put together than him. Harry coughed and straightened.

“Are we – I mean, is that what we are doing now? Dating?”

Malfoy bit his lips, deep in thought. “Is that what you want this to be?”

“I – well – do you?” Harry felt like he was trying run in jelly. “You were the one who was so unsure about everything. So – you need to say if you want this.”

Malfoy gave him an annoyed look. “I thought you Gryffindors were meant to be brave.” Harry didn’t respond, so he exhaled petulantly. “Fine, I will say it. I want to do this, Potter. Dating, whatever you wish to call it. with you.”

Harry felt like he was holding his breath, and maybe he was, because now it was coming in a great sigh of relief. His smile was so wide, it hurt his jaw muscles. “Good. I want to do this with you too, Malfoy.” the Slytherin smiled, but it was a different smile now, much more tender and open. 

“That’s good. Because if you weren’t, I would hex you so bad, you’d have to crawl to your common room. In pieces.”

“Right, I’m sure you would,” Harry rolled his eyes as he grabbed Malfoy’s waist and pulled him nearer. “And then what?”

“And then I’d probably kick you down the entire staircase of the astronomy tower, just for good measure. And so I could hear you scream, of course.” He bit his lower lip again, and Harry wanted nothing more than to lick it. “Or maybe I’d find a better use for that mouth of yours.”

“Lead the way,” Harry whispered, kissing his neck softly. Malfoy snickered as he grabbed Harry’s biceps and nearly dragged him back to the Room of Requirement. They emerged back from it sometime later, slightly sweaty and beaming, holding each other as close as possible.

***

Since Malfoy couldn’t possibly sleep in Ron’s bed anymore, and the thought of him sleeping in Harry’s bed was still a little frightening with Ron in the room, he had to retreat back to his own dorm. Ron didn’t seem too upset about that, though, and soon Harry wasn’t too sorry either. It was great to have his best mate back, even if it meant spending less time in Malfoy’s arms. Of which there was still, in all fairness, quite a lot.

The next night they were all together in the Gryffindor common room, pleasantly trying to recover from the plethora of food Hogwarts supplied for dinner. Since it was New Year’s Eve, the whole castle was decorated; twinkling golden stars shot up and down banisters, real icicles shimmered in the hallways. But Harry didn’t really have eyes for decorations; whenever he was with him, all he could see was Malfoy. Malfoy and his soft, shiny hair; Malfoy and his slender, elegant form; Malfoy and the silver lines in his eyes. Ever since they spoke yesterday, and decided they are _together_ , it was like all those feeling Harry was trying to suppress were let loose. He couldn’t help but marvel at him, his beautiful smile, that God damned cute arse. It was unbelievable, really, how much he was able to bottle down. He was now completely overwhelmed by his emotions, so much so that he couldn’t even register them. They just kind of floated warmly in the pit of his stomach and made everything a little fuzzy and sweet. 

Malfoy was sitting down with his back leaning against Harry’s chest, Harry’s arm around his waist, for all intents and purposes as if this was the most natural thing in the world. Ron and Hermione were on the other sofa, occasionally glancing towards them with a smirk. At first Harry was a little embarrassed, but then he decided he really didn’t care. Around him were all the people he cared about most in the world; he doesn’t need to hide around them, there’s no place for shame. So he brought his other hand forward and started stroking the smooth blond hair, to Malfoy’s groan of approval. 

“So are you two love birds going to try the Apparating test in March?” Ron asked, now looking at them directly. “Hermione and I talked about it, and we said we will.”

“I’m not going to be seventeen by then,” Harry reminded him, stealing a kiss on the head curled on his chest.

“Oh that’s right, I forgot you can’t do it unless you turn of age. What about you, Malfoy?”

“I’m going to be seventeen the end of January,” he replied, looking back at Harry. “So yes, I think I will try and go. Although I have been acting rather poorly in the apparition lessons so far.”

“It’s all a matter of concentration,” Hermione said quickly, and Harry caught Malfoy trying hard not to roll his eyes. “If you really envision where you want to go, you would get there no problem.”

“Yes, I get that’s the general idea,” Malfoy gritted his teeth. Hermione had gotten the hang of apparition by the second lesson, which really was no surprise to anyone. “It’s just a little hard to concentrate with… well, with this one here in every lesson, giving me those dirty looks.”

Everyone laughed, but Harry had the feeling Malfoy was going to say something else. He squeezed the blond tighter to him, kissing his head gently again. Malfoy almost melted into his touch, bringing his legs up on the sofa. Harry thought he had never seen him sitting so comfortably – usually he was all about the regal, straight posture. 

“You didn’t tell me it’s going to be your birthday,” he said softly to the back of his neck. Malfoy shivered. 

“You never asked. I’m not expecting a party or anything.” he turned his head to look at Harry. “Potter, when everyone returns to school – no one can know.” He swallowed and turned to look at the others. “I mean it. If Crabbe and Goyle hear about us – hell, if Snape does – I’m as good as dead.”

Harry nodded, and so did Ron and Hermione. “We figured,” Ron said gently. 

“We are not going to do anything to put your mother at risk, Malfoy. We want to help in any way we can.”

“Thank you,” Malfoy whispered, his head bending to the carpet. Harry squeezed his arm affectionately. 

“Don’t worry, Malfoy. We got your back – you are safe with us. And we still have the Room of Requirement to meet in when the rest of the school returns.” Malfoy pushed himself backwards onto Harry, who received him with open arms. Well, one arm, since the other was still around his waist. He was clearly uncomfortable with his recent showing of emotions.

“Are all Gryffindors so touchy, or just this one?” he deflected, smirking towards the other sofa. Ron smirked back.

“Oh, Harry is for sure a special case. Old Softie we call him here. Because of the never-ending crying and all.”

“Oi, shut up,” Harry said as he buried his face in Malfoy’s back. he could feel the vibrations as the boy laughed. 

“He is quite a crier, isn’t he? Nearly startled me to death the first time I saw it. but I figured it had to be something to do with your house.”

“Just because we have feelings, Malfoy, doesn’t mean it’s wrong to show them,” He exclaimed hotly against his back. Then he brought his head up and placed it on Malfoy’s shoulder, looking at his two friends who were snickering. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Malfoy brought both hands up in surrender. “I didn’t mean to hurt your big, soft, Gryffindor feelings.”

“I’m sure you can make it up to him later.” Harry was so shocked to hear _Hermione_ say that, he forgot to even try and answer. Instead he started laughing, and it didn’t take long till the other three were laughing with him. Harry tightened his grip on the boy in his arms, and something light and warm filled him from inside like Firewhiskey. 

“It’s almost midnight,” Ron said quietly, looking at Hermione all flushed. 

“Do you know who you’re going to kiss?” Malfoy cocked an eyebrow. It seemed like Ron blushed even further, but Hermione chuckled. She took Ron’s hand in hers and said something so softly to him, the other two couldn’t hear. “Well, I know who I’m going to kiss,” Malfoy said nonetheless, turning to face Harry. He put a hand on his chin, pulling Harry towards him, raising his head slightly. “I am going to kiss you now, Potter, so you better get your act together.”

“Duly noted, sir,” Harry grinned, and for a moment Ron and Hermione ceased to exist. He was completely engulfed by those grey eyes, the ones that were like the light of a cold winter dawn, or the soft shimmering of the moon. He was swallowed whole by them, and he wanted to be swallowed, he wanted to drown in them and never emerge. Slowly, almost in slow motion, he got close to the pale face. Malfoy gave a small gasp when he suddenly changed his speed, lounging forwards and meeting his nose a little roughly. He looked right into his eyes, heart beating frantically, about to leap out of his chest, and then he kissed him.

It was their softest, slowest kiss yet; at first Malfoy didn’t even open his mouth, but just let Harry press against him, breathing harshly through his nose. Then his lips curved into a smile and Harry’s tongue forged its way in, softly, thoroughly. It was intimate, in a way that Harry had never felt before, nor ever thought he could feel. His heart was absolutely swelling and his mind grew dizzy, but he didn’t break away from the kiss. If this is the way the new year starts, he thought to himself, panting, then perhaps everything could be all right.

***

There were only a few days left before term began again, and Harry and Malfoy spent them as best as they could, not leaving each other’s side for a minute, until they had to separate when going to sleep. Harry missed having Malfoy around in the room when he was heading for bed; he also missed him in the morning, just as he woke up. But it was okay as long as they got to spend the rest of the day together, and honestly, he couldn’t expect a better reaction from Ron. Of course, he knew Ron would support him through whatever; he had to prove his loyalty to Harry a few too many times by now. But to support this – a relationship (if he can really call it that) with the person who was his enemy for so long – Harry really didn’t know if he could find it in him. But apparently, Ron’s love for Harry was great enough, and he was very grateful for that. 

Snape was very conveniently missing again, so the four could spend some time outside without worrying about being seen. Malfoy and Ron were maybe a little too enthusiastic during their snowball fight, but other than that it seemed like the days were passing by without any incidents. 

Dumbledore had not been back, and that concerned Harry a little. wherever he was, he surely was doing something to fight Voldemort; shouldn’t he tell Harry something about it, as he is going to have to fight him in the end? and what about Narcissa and the plan to get her out safely? He knew the headmaster didn’t just forget about that, but was he actively doing something? it was impossible to know if he wasn’t here. Harry looked at the map every day for him and for Snape, but day after day there were both gone. On several opportunities, Harry asked himself if they are away together, wherever that may be. But he dismissed the theory pretty quickly every time; Snape is with Voldemort, Dumbledore is working against him. it didn’t really matter, anyway, as long as Dumbledore was on his side. Which he was. No question about it whatsoever. 

Right now, with winter break coming to an end, Harry had to face a different set of problems. His feelings towards Malfoy were increasing all the while, in a velocity that was honestly a little terrifying. He had no idea how to stop himself from falling forward, fast. With every smile, every sentence he said, he felt like Malfoy was only pulling him further in. and the most startling thing was, _he didn’t want out_. He didn’t want to go anywhere without him. Malfoy was becoming such an important part of his life, he struggled to even imagine how it was beforehand. So now he had that weirdness to worry about. But if truth be told, most of the time he wasn’t worried. Most of the time he was holding Malfoy, and to hold him meant to be content. That was at least until Term begins again. Right now they had the time, though, and he was about to make sure they don’t waste it.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have updated the rating to explicit, for there is a fairly detailed sex scene in this one. Gawky, slightly-awkward first-time type, but still sex. (chapter 19, we've already had our share of smut, we're pretty much ready for this, yeah?)

Soon, too soon, everyone returned to the castle, and seeing Malfoy became that much more difficult. They had to make sure no one sees them as they sneaked off to the Room of Requirement, but more complicated than that was trying to pretend they still hated each other in their lessons. Defence Against the Dark Arts was becoming intolerable, for example, as Neville and Ernie had grown very suspicious when it didn’t seem so difficult for Harry and Malfoy to work together anymore. Thankfully, Crabbe and Goyle didn’t share almost any lessons with them, and it didn’t seem likely that Neville will spread his suspicions much further. Still, Harry felt more apprehensive, more worried. His little paradise was affected, and he didn’t know what to do about it. he wished everyone could just go away again so he could have the castle, and Malfoy, all to himself.

As it were, he only had him for a very short duration of time every week. They both had Quidditch practices to consider (never in his life had Harry been less interested in the flying sport), not to mention school work, and Snape seemed to be hovering around them constantly, making sure they stayed well apart. Malfoy was a prefect, on top of all that, and had to perform his prefect duties. All in all, they were lucky if they got two evenings a week. The first week into February brought, apart from a fresh blanket of snow, a very put off Harry. He had barely seen Malfoy all month, and just when it was getting painful to be away. He needed to be with him all the time, and found himself staring helplessly at the blond head more and more frequently. On Tuesday night, upon walking into the Room of Requirement, he had to work hard to keep his huffing to a minimum.

“You have to be more careful than that,” Malfoy admonished as he tore the length of the room and lunged at him. For a few minutes Harry was too preoccupied in kissing his neck and his face furiously to even catch he was speaking. “Potter. Potter!”

Reluctant, Harry drew his head up to meet his gaze. “What?” he asked innocently.

“I said you have to be more careful. People are starting to notice the way you are looking at me. I heard a couple of your Gryffindors talking about it in the hall today.”

“What?” Harry thought he might actually fall down with shock. “What – who – “

“Relax, they have no idea what’s going on. They seemed to believe you must suspect me of something, since you were eyeing me up all through Charms class.” He sniggered and fell onto the sofa, Harry falling next to him. “The pillocks haven’t a clue that you were probably sucking me off in your mind when you were doing that.”

“I was not sucking you off,” Harry retorted indignantly. “I was just thinking about tonight, wishing it came sooner. It is getting harder and harder to wait.”

“Yes, I think I know what you mean,” Malfoy gave him a sheepish look. “Gods, Potter, what have you done to me?”

“Not enough,” he whispered back, lightly trailing Malfoy’s face with his fingers. “And not nearly close enough to what I want to do to you.”

“You talk a big game,” Malfoy shook his head, lips curving upwards. “But do you think you can follow through?”

“I have no doubt,” Harry murmured, his lips now very close to Malfoy’s. He wanted to do this ever since last Thursday. Merin, he needed this. “You know, we never did celebrate your birthday.”

“Oh yes, about that. Thank you very much for the card, although I think it could have been masked better. It confused the tossers to no end to find out how great my cock was. Did you really have to write how much you wanted to suck it _in verse?_ They were grilling me for hours to find out who’s my girlfriend.”

“My handwriting isn’t girly at all,” Harry said, only blushing a little. “And besides, I do, so what was I supposed to say? If you stopped being so fucking incerdible, then maybe I’d be able to shut up about it.” Malfoy cocked an eyebrow. “Not that I want you to stop or anything. So, who did you say she was in the end?”

Sniggering, Malfoy pulled Harry’s chin up and looked him in the eye. “Some very pretty, very rich foreign exchange student they’ve never heard about. I told them she’s already back in France. And that she gave me the best blowjobs of my life.” Harry gave an incredulous ‘Hmph!’ and Malfoy laughed. “Anyway, thank you for the card. It was very… sweet. Ugh, listen to me.”

Harry’s smile grew wider. “You’re welcome. did you get any other cards from – er – other people?” Malfoy’s eyes became a little unfocused for a second.

“I got one from Pansy, and one from Theodore and Blaise. But nothing from my father, or my aunt, if that’s what you meant.” He sighed. “I expected something, I’m not going to lie. Now that I’m of age the range of possibilities only grows for me to perform my task. I’m surprised they haven’t said anything.”

Harry dug his hand in Malfoy’s hair and ran through it. “And nothing from your mum, I guess?”

“No, nothing still. But I wasn’t thinking she’d send anything. It’s too dangerous, anyway.”

“I don’t suppose you heard any more from Dumbledore about it?” Harry asked carefully. Malfoy shook his head.

“I don’t even think he’s been in the castle recently. I’ve certainly not seen him since before Christmas. Merlin knows where he goes all this time, but I don’t think he was able to do anything about her yet, or I’m sure I would have heard via… other channels.”

“Snape?” Harry asked tentatively. Malfoy confirmed with a nod.

“He said he keeps in contact with her regularly, and that he’s… trying to look out for her.” Malfoy’s voice became rather cold. “He still thinks I believe him, which is quite incredible.”

“Maybe he is trying to help her,” Harry said, although he didn’t much believe it himself. “I mean he was a friend of your father’s for years. Maybe he’s being a total arse to you, but still holds some affection towards her, or something.”

“Yes… maybe,” Malfoy said, full of doubt. “I suppose we will find out soon enough. And when Dumbledore returns, I plan to confront him and demand him to tell me exactly how he plans to help her.” he sighed. “But we don’t have to talk about my mother now, Potter. I was under the impression you were going to give me a blowjob.”

“Were you now?” Harry asked, a beginning of a smirk playing on his lips. “How interesting.”

“Yes, quite. I should say it is about the most interesting thing that has happened to me all week.”

“Since Thursday, you mean,” Harry snickered as he pulled himself above Malfoy, pushing his thighs apart.

“Yes, since Thursday. For all those long, long days.” He sighed again, very dramatically. Harry sat on top of him, slowly unbuttoning his shirt. He kept on his tie. “This whole secret relationship isn’t for me, Potter. As soon as all this is done, we are no longer hiding. I am sick of it.”

Harry grinned and took the shirt off, then his own. “Are you sure you want to go public with me, Malfoy? after all, you have your reputation to consider.”

“I think that ship has long sailed,” Malfoy chuckled as Harry undid his zipper and took his trousers off. “Too late to go back now.” Harry looked around, suddenly wishing very hard this room had a bed. And just like that, right before his eyes, a double bed appeared out of thin air. Harry smiled, but Malfoy, who didn’t see it as it was behind him, continued on. “I’m just saying, Potter, you are going to have to acknowledge this thing between us. You’re going to have absolutely no choice.”

“My, what a blow that will be,” Harry said as he got up. He pulled Malfoy to his feet by his tie, leading him walking backwards to the newly formed bed.

“What are you doing, Potter?” the grey eyes widened in surprise when the back of his legs hit the bed. “What – “

Harry shushed him and pushed forward with considerable force. For a second Malfoy seemed shocked, not knowing what to expect, but then his back hit the mat and he looked up, smiling. “How’s that going to help your reputation, Malfoy?”

“It wholly depends on what you plan to do with this bed.” His grin got wider, but then he gasped as if remembering something. “Wait, Potter – shouldn’t we practice first?”

“Practice later,” Harry waved a hand dismissively. “Sex first.”

“That’s what you said last week. And the week before it. and the one before. And yet we have not practiced a single time since break.” Malfoy pulled up into a sitting position, looking at him seriously. “You know this is important, Potter. And besides, I wouldn’t be using this word around me unless you were willing to go all the way.”

Harry’s face became quite a deep shade of red. “Are you sure you want to practice now? On your birthday?”

“My birthday was on Sunday, Potter.”

“Yes, exactly!” Harry whimpered. Malfoy gave him a stern look. Pouting, he caved and sat down next to him. “Fine. Thirty minutes of practice, then back to… you know. The fun stuff.”

Malfoy laughed as he drew his wand out. “We’ll start with some Occlumency maneuvers. You’ve been practicing at night, I hope?”

Harry blushed even further, not meeting his eye. He tried to practice almost every night without fail. But whenever he thought of Occlumency, he thought of Malfoy. And whenever he thought of Malfoy now, he – well – it was very hard to practice after that. Malfoy groaned and grabbed him by the sides of his head, forcing him to look directly into the grey eyes. “I tried, I really did. It’s not as easy when you’re not there.”

“Potter, come on, you know how important this is.” His voice was very, very soft. He sighed, and it breezed on Harry’s face. “Please do it.”

“I will,” Harry hastened to say. He didn’t think there’s anything really that Malfoy could ask of him right now that he wouldn’t do.

“All right. In the meantime… here we go. I will not give you a warning, okay?” Harry nodded and waited. He found that it was easier when he closed his eyes, so he did, and he concentrated on his breathing.

Then there was that weird feeling, as if someone cracked the top of his skull open, and now was reaching inside his brain with smooth, slick fingers. Harry fought it off the way he was used to; focusing more and more on the blackness behind his eyes, on the nothingness in the void inside him. And the more he focused on that, the clearer his head was; the more he could control the situation. It only took a little effort to throw the blond out, and Harry could hear him gasping as if from miles away. “Very good, Potter! That was excellent.”

“Can we move on, then? Fun stuff?”

Malfoy laughed and shook his head. “Not yet. Let’s give the torture curse another try.” He summoned the jar from his room and it arrived within a minute, landing on the bed next to them. He took a single cockroach and placed it on the bed, fixing it to the covers by a spell. “Now remember, the key is intention. You have to want to do this. Think of something that makes you mad.”

Harry tried, but sitting in this room with Malfoy, he barely remembered what it even means to be mad. He was just so happy and content; anger seemed far, far away. And it was really all the more difficult to concentrate, as his glance kept stealing towards Malfoy’s basically naked body. Shutting his eyes again he tried to bring forth the pictures of the people whose actions took a personal toll on him; Lucius Malfoy, Lestrange, Voldemort, Snape. One after the other he pictured them, but where there was once a flaming volcano, now there was just a dull pain. He tried nevertheless, again and again, but the bug didn’t seem to even be affected by his attempts. In the end, Malfoy had no choice but to give up the whole thing. Tucking the insect back in the jar, he turned towards Harry.

“Oh well, then… I suppose now would be the time for said _fun stuff_.” Harry could not believe his luck as he grabbed him in his arms and finally, finally released the incredible tension he’s been carrying since Thursday.

 _This_ , Harry thought to himself as he caressed the soft skin of his face, as he locked Malfoy underneath him and kissed each one of his extremely long lashes. This was what he needed. This was what he wanted, far longer than he knew it, far longer than was even possible. The way he felt when he touched Malfoy like that – when their naked bodies ground against each other, and the friction was far too good to handle – he could never describe it to himself in a million years. Yes, it was lust; yes, teenage hormones pushed all his buttons; yes, Draco Malfoy’s beauty was uncanny and warranted his attraction and madness. But there was more than that, more than the physical aspect of hand-touches-warm-body and the well-shaped pale limbs that set his heart racing. No… it was those endless wells he discovered deep within the silver and grey of his eyes, that undiluted joy in reaching Malfoy in a way that shouldn’t even be possible. He wasn’t falling anymore – god damn it, he _fell_ , and it was bloody fantastic. He could not get enough of it. he kissed every inch of Malfoy’s body before taking him in his mouth and trying to convey it all in every single swipe of his tongue.

***

Harry knew something was off from the moment Malfoy walked in, even before he got a good look at his face. Something about the way the Slytherin carried himself was a dead give-away. He was incredibly worried and it took less than a second for his heart to triple its weight in his chest. Could it be because tomorrow would be Valentine’s day? His nerves nearly got the better of him when he saw Malfoy sitting down not next to him on the sofa, but on the one the other side of the coffee table.

“What’s wrong?” he asked in a much smaller voice than he’d wished. Malfoy didn’t look directly at him, but Harry could still see the slightly haunted look in his eyes.

“We need to practice,” Malfoy retorted a little frantically. “We should be practicing far more often, Potter. We have been slacking off when we should have been working, and it cannot continue any longer.”

“Okay,” Harry tilted his head to the side. He’d seen Malfoy only three days ago, and everything was just fine then. It was alarming to see the change in him; the blond looked absolutely possessed. “Is… everything all right, though?”

“Nothing is all right, as you know perfectly well. And you, Harry Bloody Potter, are our only chance in this wretched world. So if you don’t mind delaying whatever it is you were thinking to do – “ he gestured broadly towards the bed, still there since their previous engagements – “We should really get to business here.”

“Right.” Harry felt rather abashed, and he quickly cleared his throat and mastered his face into a serious expression. “Okay, Malfoy. Let’s practice. You can tell me all about what’s going on with you later.” He was still breathing harshly, though, when Malfoy raised his wand.

While he waited for the spell to hit, he took a moment to observe the Slytherin. His eyes were very light and slightly bleary, and there was a haunted air in them that was outright frightening. Harry hadn’t seen him look like that in a long, long time, and couldn’t help but freak out over what caused it. Could it be Snape, threatening him again? Crabbe and Goyle out for no good? A letter from his father or Lestrange? Or… something even worse still? Harry closed his eyes and tried to focus. It will not do, worrying about Malfoy when the latter was trying to invade his mind. There was nothing he wanted more than for Malfoy to feel safe with him, to trust him, but Harry knew better than trying to force that. Whatever was eating Malfoy – and it could not have been clearer something was – he will tell Harry in his own time.

Then, finally, he could feel it; the singular sensation of a breach in his stream of consciousness. It took no effort to block, though, and in under ten seconds Harry was present again. either Malfoy wasn’t trying very hard, despite the little speech he gave – or Harry grew to be very good at it. He saw Malfoy taking a big breath and raising his wand again, and there was another attempt it was a little too easy to block. Harry opened one eye experimentally, and he could see the fluster on the pale face. Whatever it was that was wrong, it was messing with Malfoy’s magic.

They were at it for hours, or at least so it felt; Malfoy was very much off his game, and his attempts to invade Harry’s mind were easy to block. Harry grew more and more concerned as the time passed; there was something in the way Malfoy’s blank face reflected the light that unnerved him completely. Something was wrong, deeply wrong, and he found it hard to breathe normally.

After what must have been his umpteenth attempt, Harry raised his hand. “Malfoy, stop. Please, can you just come here a minute?” the blond obeyed and sat down next to him, too far to touch and resolutely not looking his way. “Tell me what the hell is going on.”

“I can’t…” Malfoy shook his head and dug his elbows in his thighs, head nursed in his palms. “I can’t.”

“Why not? You know you can tell me anything, right? anything.” Worry was clawing at his chest like a hungry feral cat.

“I know, Potter. I know. It’s – I just can’t, not now. Maybe later. I need to think.”

“Think? About what?” Harry realized he was digging where he’s not meant to only after the words left his lips. “Okay, listen, whatever you want. I’m here, whenever you want, whenever you’re ready. Why don’t we take a break, rest for a little?”

“Take a break?” Malfoy repeated, disgusted. “take a break? What exactly have we been doing all this time, Potter? You’ve not made any progress with the Unforgivable curses. Your Occlumency still needs a lot of work, and it’s already – we have already – bloody hell, Potter, it’s pathetic. This whole thing is absolutely pathetic. We had all this time on our hands, and now… look what we have to show for it now.”

“Hey, that’s unfair,” Harry tried to keep his voice calm. “We did practice a lot. I’m a hundred times better at Occlumency, and it’s all thanks to you. Sure, I can still improve some, but – “

“You can improve? that’s got to be the understatement of the century. Look at yourself, how easy it is to break your walls – you’re not even trying, not in earnest – Legilimence!”

Harry had not been prepared, and Malfoy was right, he really couldn’t withstand it; the sudden attack was enough to break his feeble shield. there was that hand again inside him, prying his thoughts open and touring in his memories. He twisted and writhed, trying to fight it, but it was no use. Malfoy’s fingers in his mind took hold with metallic talons. Harry was forced through what felt like a very narrow tunnel into a memory he didn’t recognize at first.

He was in a dark forest, with only a little bit of moonlight coming through the trees. there was a blond figure being held aggressively by a monster with a torn face. Tears streamed down his invisible face as he watched the figure squeezed into an embrace –

“No,” he groaned, trying to push off it, but the memory altered – it was Malfoy, held against the wall by Goyle, and then he punched him – “no,” Harry whispered again, writhing even more violently – Malfoy crying in his arms in this very room –

And with a huge mental tug he was finally able to remove the both of them, throwing Malfoy out with a bang. Panting, it took Harry a long moment to remember who he was and what was going on. He opened his eyes to look at Malfoy, incensed, until he registered the look on his face.

“Potter, you – those memories – they were about me.”

“You are quite the detective, Malfoy,” Harry said, not really sure why he’s getting annoyed. Malfoy had been right, after all – he really wasn’t ready. So why did he feel so angry all of a sudden, so exposed? Was it because of what the blond saw in his mind? Or because of the way he reacted to it?

“You – usually I get to see your worst memories, if I succeed to venture in.” Malfoy’s eyes must have been the size of tennis balls.

“Yes,” Harry said slowly, not entirely clear as to what he’s admitting.

“Were those – some of your worst memories, then? When you saw me getting hurt? Did it really affect you so much back then?”

“I suppose,” Harry shrugged, but he knew he’s not being completely honest. “I told you. When I saw Goyle punch you, I literally wanted to kill him. I think I could have pulled off the Cruciatus curse at that moment. I was so angry.”

“And in the forest, with Greyback?”

“That… shit, Malfoy, that was one of the scariest incidents of my life, and I’ve had a good number of those. And I knew how sad you were, seeing your mum like that, and not being able to do anything to help. It broke my heart, kind of.”

“You – “ Malfoy said but then he stopped, his head falling into his hands. “You are just too much, Potter.” Harry tried to hold him, but the boy resisted, pushing him away and looking at him with eyes so large they were about to tear up. “You are too fucking much.”

“Look, I’m sorry. I don’t know if – hell, Malfoy, I didn’t mean for you to see that. I’m not even sure I knew it was there. I just care about you a lot, okay? I really do. you’re – you’re really important to me.” He held his arms open, pleading. Malfoy shook his head.

“Well fuck that, Potter, you are important to me too! I’ve grown to bloody – I mean, look at all this! I didn’t very well plan this, did I? and look at me now!”

“So why are we fighting?” Harry was at a complete loss. “Because I really care about you and you really care about me?”

“Yes!” Malfoy shouted, and Harry couldn’t help but laugh. This was really quite ridiculous – but the blond wasn’t joking; he got off the sofa, enraged. “I can’t do this anymore, Potter! It has gone too far!”

“Malfoy – Malfoy, God damn it, wait a second!” amazed, Harry jumped after him, pulling him by the elbow as he tried to walk away. “I don’t understand, what’s wrong?” that was an understatement; the whole night was a complete fucking puzzle.

“ _Everything’s wrong_ !” Malfoy exclaimed, yanking his arm from Harry’s hold violently. “I never meant for any of this to happen! I never thought it will – fuck, I never thought that I – and then you came along with your bloody golden boy ways, and I was absolutely helpless – gods help me, Potter, you’ve ruined everything!”

Harry was too stunned to say anything, so instead he grabbed the pale face in two hands and forced him to still. “Malfoy, look at me. Look at me.” Reluctantly, the grey eyes found his. “I don’t know what in the craziness all that was, I have no idea what’s happening tonight, but it doesn’t matter. I know this isn’t exactly what either of us had planned, but this is what we have now. And I won’t exchange this, or you, for anything else. okay?” Malfoy’s eyes were almost on fire, trying to burn a hole through him. He embraced the boy to him, holding tight. “Forget about the past, you mean everything to me now. Everything.”

When Harry pulled away to look at his face, the grey eyes were filled with tears. He tried a smile, but Malfoy wasn’t going to indulge him like that. He frowned instead. “Are you really sure about this, Potter? You really want this?” Harry had to laugh.

“More than anything I ever wanted in my life. Draco, please.”

If he thought that his eyes were large before, he was surprised to find out just how large they can actually be. For a second he didn’t even know what spurred that reaction, the immediate softening in his expression, until Malfoy asked, “What did you call me?”

“What? Malfoy?” but Harry knew it wasn’t it, so he didn’t really need the gentle shake. “Draco,” he said slowly, intentionally. It felt weird on his tongue. Weird and thrilling and unbelievingly right, like he finally, finally could admit it to himself. Draco, his Draco. God, it felt good to think it. The blond blinked at him, mouth gaping, almost not daring to believe it. “Draco,” he said again, and a light smile appeared on the pale face, like a ray of sunlight after a storm. “Draco.”

And just like that they were kissing, Draco – for Malfoy was, always had been, every bit his Draco - almost jumping into his arms, kissing him with a sort of desperate hunger. And Harry retaliated, inhaling him in, reveling in how close he was, how necessary. He let Harry lead him to the bed, where they both fell, rolling and twisting, stopping only when Draco pulled Harry’s glasses off with great care. Draco, Draco, his glorious Draco; his head was spun all the way around on the sheer joy of it. At first Harry was on top, kissing down on him like fire, not even considering pulling up for air; then Draco was on top of him, raining little kisses on his neck and chest, pinning him down forcefully. Harry’s mind was completely blank now, consisting of nothing but Draco, his mouth, his body, and the growing tension in his own groin. He was nothing now but Draco’s; nothing at all. Rolling again so they were both on their sides, he grabbed him close and squeezed as tightly as possible, making the other boy gasp.

“Harry,” he said softly, and hearing him use his given name was an utterly exhilarating experience. It filled him whole with this warm, tingling, fuzzy feeling, like he was about to float around in the air. He squeezed again, if only to hear Draco say his name once more. He wasn’t disappointed; the grey eyes looked directly into his and he said it again, and it was almost like music: “Harry… Harry…”

He wasn’t just happy, he was ecstatic. Rolling Draco on his back he nearly gouged his eyes out with his ferocity. Touching every inch of his body was an absolute necessity; he had to be as close as possible to him. “Draco,” he replied, barely aware to what he was saying. Some frantic thrashing resulted in them both without any clothes on. Writhing on top of him hectically, maddened by the friction of their skins, he felt the upsurge in his crotch, hotter and hotter –

“Fuck me, Harry,” Draco whispered in his ear, and he was nearly losing it.

“What? What?”

“Fuck me,” Draco repeated, pulling his head back so he can look him in the eyes. “Please.”

Harry could not reply, because he did not remember how to use language for a second. “But – but – really? You really want to?” He simply couldn’t get it. Not ten minutes ago Draco was about to run out of this room and away from him, and now he was suggesting _this_ ?

The grey eyes were incredibly dark. “Please, Harry. Yes. I want to.”

Harry had to gulp a whole lot of air, still his mind was blank. “how do we even –“

“I can stretch myself – there’s this spell, lubricanti – here, I’ll do it.” Draco cast his wand on two of his fingers and whispered the spell, and automatically they got coated by a slimy substance. Harry could only watch in amazement as Draco inserted one finger up his –

Oh, God. He wasn’t ready for that, no way in hell was he ready for that. And yet the thought alone was enough to make his cock shoot upwards; he couldn’t tear his eyes away as Draco pushed further in, then inserted another one, pulling his fingers apart. He felt weak. This was all happening so fast. He had no idea what or even how to think.

“I think I’m ready,” Draco said after a mesmerizing while, and his voice faltered a little. that gave Harry enough courage to be able to speak again.

“Have you ever done it before?” he asked in a raspy little imitation of his own voice.

“No, never,” there was definite blush in his cheeks now, familiar and so damned sweet. Harry felt himself drawing confidence from that.

“So how on earth did you know – “

“I’ve done some research,” Malfoy answered quickly, and his adorable flush only became darker. “Because I want to do it, Harry. I want to do it with you.” Harry was unable to stop himself from kissing those pink cheeks. “So do you want me to…” he pointed his wand at Harry’s cock. There was only a second to make the choice, but really, was there ever a doubt? He nodded.

Draco cast the spell and his cock was slathered in a layer of cold, slimy gel. It wasn’t unpleasant, just wholly unfamiliar, and he had to look at Draco to relax. He had an idea about what should go where, it was all just so… so very new.

But there was Draco, his Draco, laying on the bed naked and wanting him, and that in itself was probably enough to make Harry come. He swallowed him in his eyes, stroking his cock a little with one hand before he positioned himself between his spread legs. In second thought he pulled Draco up and put a pillow under his lower back, to better his angle. Then he looked down as the blond looked up at him. “Are you sure about this?” Draco nodded. He wasn’t, though, yet more excited than ever in his life. Another look at Draco - His Draco - and fucking hell, if he won't do it now he will explode with all this insane lust. He took three calming breaths and pushed in.

This was absolutely the most amazing feeling he ever experienced. Being inside Draco, even just this little bit, was overwhelming. The tight, warm channel was more than he could ever dream of, and he was attacked by a staggering urge to push all the way in. He had to be all the way inside him. But as he moved to go in deeper, he heard a slight grunt underneath him.

“Are you alright, Malfoy? Draco?” the blond looked up at him. He was nodding, but Harry knew him well enough to see the pain in his eyes. “Shit, Draco, do you want me to stop?”

“No, no, just – slow down for a second.” He closed his eyes, looking like he’s concentrating on something. “Okay, go.” Harry nodded, even though he couldn’t see, and pushed an infinitesimal amount more.

“Merlin,” Draco groaned in pain, and Harry stilled immediately. It was excruciating, trying to hold himself in place, when all his hips wanted to do was thrash wildly and imbed himself in Draco. He started moving in really, really slowly, whenever the Slytherin drew a breath. “Stop, stop, my gods! Harry, stop!” he had to hold his breath in order not to move any further. Draco exhaled a few shaky, strained pants. “Okay, but go all the way, all right? In one push, do you think you can do it?”

Harry couldn’t exactly speak, so he made a non-committal ‘nmph’ sound. Draco nodded and he gave it his all and just pushed.

“Fuck,” he gasped when he was in, unable to believe the feelings in his body. This was better than amazing, better than heaven; way beyond his wildest dreams. To be inside him like this, Draco so tight around him… a cold shiver went right through him, and he nearly came there and then. But the pained look on the boy beneath him worried him immensely, so much so that he started to forget about the fact he was _actually having sex_. “Draco, you alright?”

“Mm-hmm,” Draco mumbled, eyes squeezed shut. Harry wondered if he should pull out entirely, but he didn’t know if that would only hurt more. He started to, but a muffled scream and a hand that shot to his belly stopped him. “Don’t move, Harry. Just – just wait a bloody second.” He breathed in and out rather harshly. “Fuck, it hurts.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry cried, panicking. “What to do? Draco, what do I do?”

“I don’t fucking know, Harry! Do _something_!”

Harry’s mind was spinning and crashing ungracefully in his anxiety. He didn’t want to do anything that hurt Draco, but he had no idea what to do, as he was all the way inside him. There must be something he could do, right? there’s no way it had to be painful. This was meant to be enjoyable, god damn it. what they needed was a way for Draco to relax, maybe. If he wasn’t so wound up, it would probably hurt less. Very carefully he leaned down, kissing him softly.

“What are you doing, Harry?” Draco asked in a strangled kind of voice, but when Harry’s mouth sucked on his lower lip, he opened his mouth and let Harry’s tongue in. Harry kissed him gently, smoothly, and soon he had him gasping for air, his eyes relaxing to their normal shut-state. With a quick decision, Harry’s hand sent to Draco’s semi-hard cock. He pulled at it in slow strokes, making the boy shiver and groan underneath him. When he got his member fully erect, and Draco slightly heaving, he started moving again.

At first it didn’t even seem like Draco noticed; he was too absorbed in the motions Harry’s hand was doing, coordinated with the thrashing in and out. He bit his lip when Harry started to move a little faster, which was really taking all of his self-control, as his every instinct was to just ram into him. Then he cried in pain again and Harry stopped, horrified. His hand hovered in the air above Draco’s penis.

“No, Harry – don’t stop – just, try another angle, or something.” his whisper was rather desperate.

“Are you sure? Draco, are you sure I am doing this right?”

“I don’t know, Harry, I’ve never bloody done it before! But there must be a better way, and it bloody well better be good!’

“But I keep hurting you! I don’t know if I can – “

“Harry. Please. Just try.” Draco opened his eyes, pleading, and Harry obeyed immediately. He found another angle and pushed in, a little easier this time, his hand moving at the same time along Draco’s length. Since the pain was still clear on the pale face underneath, Harry tried a third angle, and threw himself in. When that didn’t work he pulled out again, Draco’s pained expression driving a hole through his heart, and tried to go in a little differently. “YES,” the blond shouted, and Harry’s mouth hung in shock, heart stopping still.

“You mean – this is good?”

“Yes, Potter, god damn you – Harry, yes, yes – “

Exulted out of his senses, empowered by the wild look in the now opened grey eyes, Harry pushed forth again, and Draco emitted a loud groan that nearly spun his head all the way around again. “You like it?” he nearly yelled, unable to contain his joy. He pushed further in again and again, impatient to cause Draco to make that sound again, enjoying the look on his face as much as the shooting sensation in his spine, the unbelievable tightness around his cock, that incredible warmth that engulfed him whole –

“Fuck, yes! Oh my gods, Harry, yes!”

And he happily carried on, going a little bit faster, his hand moving even more speedily on Draco’s cock. He started groaning in a quick succession, muttering and covering his eyes with his hands, but Harry slapped them away as he wanted to see his face – he wanted to see how good he’s making him feel. “Harry… yes… shit, Harry…” He was almost lost in it now, completely drowned in the unbelievable joy, and he knew he can’t go on much longer, it was just too good – Draco started panting, almost crying with pleasure, and Harry thought he might faint – then he gave a final, deep push in, and Draco actually shouted loudly, coming fast and hard in his hand – there was nothing to it now; Harry came with almost a sob, falling on top of the boy, and for a second the whole world was black.

The waves of orgasm brought him higher and higher, and it took around forever to be able to breathe again. He was in absolute bliss; nothing in the whole world could dampen his spirits now. He slowly pulled out of Draco and lay by his side, wrapping him tightly in his arms.

“Fuck, Draco. That was…” there were no words in the world that could possibly entail how he felt. The blond chuckled.

“Yes, I know. It was so much more than I ever expected.”

Harry turned his head to look at him. “How exactly did you research this? And when?”

The Slytherin gave him a sheepish look. “It was a book I found once. Been thinking about it recently, so I ordered it in. I wanted to – well, make sure I was ready, when the time came.”

“And you thought that was tonight?” Harry couldn’t believe the feelings in his exhausted body. It was too difficult to comprehend; Draco hardly even looked at him in the beginning of the evening, he had the weight of the world on his shoulders, and then – then this… it was too much to handle.

“Not really, not until you… said my name like that.” His voice grew rather tiny, and Harry gasped, utterly overwhelmed by feelings towards him. Warm, fluttery feelings. Bloody hell, loving kind of feelings. He squeezed Draco in his arms until he heard him panting for air.

“You’re incredible, Draco. Really. Amazing.” He kissed his forehead softly, and the light that shone in the grey eyes stole the very oxygen from his lungs.

“Well don’t get too used to that. Next time, I’m topping.” Harry laughed freely, his heart swelling and squishing inside his chest.

“Not just the sex, Draco. It’s… everything. I – “ he wasn’t sure exactly what he was going to say, but it didn’t really matter, as the soft lips crashed onto his and Draco kissed him gently, and the world whirled helplessly around them. After that he could no longer think, so he just held him tight and kissed him till he couldn’t breathe.

They lay like this for some time, Draco cuddled into him, Harry gently caressing his soft skin and being just absolutely happy. Nothing, he decided as he lay there, nothing could ever be better than this. They fell asleep in the Room of Requirement, and woke up a little startled in the very early morning. And although he knew he would have to give a probably-very-vexed-Ron an explanation, and although he was dead tired, Harry could not have been happier if he tried.


	20. Chapter 20

Harry was sitting comfortably in his usual seat in the Gryffindor common room. He was meant to be writing an essay for Snape, but all he could do was stare into the fire and replay last night in his mind. Draco’s face when Harry was pounding the right spot inside him – and God, that feeling of being completely enclosed in his tightness – 

“Erm, Harry? All good?”

He shook himself out of his reverie and looked at Ron, who was smirking. “Sorry, did you say something?”

“Yeah, mate. I said that this essay is due tomorrow. You know Snape will literally kill you if you don’t hand something in. And we have double potions on Friday, so he’ll have double the time to kill you.”

Harry nodded, though to say the least he didn’t really care about any threats the greasy-haired man could pose. “Did you finish yours?”

“Yes. Hermione is checking mine right now.” There was a deep redness in his cheeks that went all the way to his hair. Ever since they kissed on New Year’s Eve, something was definitely up between the two. Harry could only hope they would actually do something about it this time and not just let it slip into nothing. “What’s with you, anyway? You’re completely out of it today. Does it have anything to do with... you know who?" He lowered his voice, as other Gryffindors were sitting quite close to them. Harry gave him a considering look.

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. “You know what, Ron? I don’t think you’d want to know.” He chuckled at the stunned look his friend was giving him.

“Don’t tell me that – you haven’t – have you?” he was even more red now, if that was possible. Harry deliberated with himself for a second, then nodded. Ron’s eyes shot wide open in surprise. “But how – well, how did you even know what to do?” he asked in a little voice. Harry shrugged.

“He did the research, so I let him lead.”

“Did he – Harry, did he shag you?” his whisper was as loud as a yell. Harry had to laugh at the intensity of his look.

“No, he was bottoming. But he told me what to do before it, because I didn’t really have a clue. Apparently you need to – no, I think it’s best if you didn’t hear too many details.”

Ron gasped in relief. “I think that is best for the time being, yes. But – wow, Harry! Having sex for the first time is a big deal, you know.”

“Yes, I’m aware,” Harry smirked at him. Then he returned his gaze to the fire and stared at it dreamily. “Ron, it was amazing. Really. Best thing I ever did.”

He could hear the smile in his best friend’s voice. “I’m glad for you, mate. really, I am. Who would have thought that it would be Malfoy, right?” Harry laughed and looked at him again.

“I know, I never could have guessed it. Hermione, maybe, but definitely not me. I just feel so – sorry, I don’t want to gush about him in front of you. But it just feels really, really good.”

“You know, you really have changed him,” Ron said, musing. “He’s actually smiled at me last week. A real smile, mind you, not one of his sarcastic ones. At me. I thought I was dreaming at first; I didn’t think he had the face muscles to pull that off.”

Harry chuckled. “Yeah, he is a lot happier recently than… ever, really. I don’t remember seeing Draco happy for as long as I knew him.” Something tightened in his gut as he remembered how miserable the Slytherin had been before things heated up last night. They never actually talked about it, and they hadn’t been alone since. Ron pulled him out of his thoughts again .

“No, he was never really the cheerful bloke. More of the “smile-one-more-time-and-I’d-kill-you” type. But he really changed this year, and I think it’s mainly because of you.”

“Well, there was the whole summer with Greyback, and the torture from Voldemort.” He ignored the light spasm Ron made when he said the name. “And trying to save his mum and all… but yes, I think I had something to do with it, as well. At least that’s what he says.”

“Do you guys talk about that kind of thing?” Ron asked curiously. 

“I guess, yeah. He had some sort of a fit about it the other day, can’t really tell you what’s happened. But yeah, we talk about stuff like that all the time. That’s kind of how we became close.”

Ron let out a low whistle. “I still can’t really wrap my mind about that, you know. You and him, close. I mean I can get the whole, you know – physical stuff. but to think you are actually connecting… it’s bizarre. But I’m really happy for you, still,” he added almost in an afterthought, and Harry laughed.

“Thanks, mate. Yeah, I suppose it’s a little weird for me too, still. But it’s also great and brilliant.” He smiled, and Ron smiled too, and everything was right with the world. So right, in fact, that he felt like he could press another subject. “What about you, then?”

“Pardon?” Ron seemed a little startled all of a sudden, the flush in his cheeks growing darker. Harry could only smile.

“You and Hermione. I mean, come on, it’s only been there ever since fourth year. It just happens to be Valentine's day - when are you actually going to do something about it?”

Ron seemed aghast, and he opened his mouth to deny vehemently, but then reconsidered. He bowed his head to the sofa, looking slightly crushed. “I don’t know. I don’t think she’d ever be into me, not like I’m into her. I mean she’s so brilliant, and amazing, and I’m just…” he rolled his eyes and made a ‘mhhm’ sound. 

“I’m sure she doesn’t see it that way. I know I don’t.” he put a hand on Ron’s arm and looked at him warmly. “Mate, you’re fantastic. And I know she thinks so too, because she won’t stop staring at you. I think she’s only waiting for you to understand it as well.”

“Are you sure you’d be okay with it?” Ron asked, taking Harry completely by surprise. The redhead gave him a sheepish look. “With everything that’s going on with you, and the – the things you will still need to do in the future… and you know we will both be there for you to the ends of the earth, but – but would you mind if we were – “ he furrowed his eyebrows, and Harry gulped in shock.

“You’re not saying you didn’t do it because of me, are you?” was all he could manage. Ron shook his head.

“Well no, not just because of you. Mostly because I can’t see what an incredible witch like her would ever do with a bloke like me. But I was – I mean yeah, I’ve been thinking about you too, just a bit.”

“Ron…” Harry was too choked up to say anything for a long while. “You bloody arse, of course I wouldn’t mind. Merlin, never make any decisions on your love life thinking about me, all right? That’s just pure creepy.”

Ron laughed and smacked him on the shoulder, hard. “You are a total git, Harry, but thanks. I’ll –think about it. See what I can do.”

Harry shook his head in a mixture of shock and amusement. “I’m sure she would greatly appreciate that.” They sat there in content silence for a few minutes, staring into the fire. Letting out a long sigh and wishing Draco was here right now, Harry took the Marauder’s map out of his pocket, the same as he did every night. not being able to sleep in the same room anymore, Harry drew comfort from seeing Draco’s name on the map, almost as if he was near him.

It was rather late at night, so he should probably be in his room. Harry checked that first, but the little dot bearing Draco Malfoy’s name wasn’t there. Oh well, he thought, maybe doing prefect rounds? His eyes scanned the corridors, but he couldn’t see anything. And there was Pansy Parkinson, his co-prefect, and she was in her dorm already. So where could he be?

The familiar jolt of dread passed through him as he forced himself to focus. He must be somewhere here, Harry told himself sternly, checking every single dot in every single room in the castle. There was Dumbledore, he thought in surprise, pacing in his office. And there was Filch, in the trophy room with his cat. But where was -

And then his eyes widened in shock when he found the two dots together, isolated from the rest of the castle in the astronomy tower. Draco Malfoy, and with him, Severus Snape.

***

It only took him a minute to decide, and really, it wasn’t much of a decision. Concern and trepidation filled his heart and forced him to jump to his feet. Mumbling something to Ron and pulling the invisibility cloak out of his bag, he practically ran in the deserted corridors, not worrying too much about the sound his feet must be making. Only when he reached the steps to the astronomy tower did he halt. He climbed them slowly, carefully, making absolutely no sound. When he reached the top, a few long tormenting moments later, it took a while until his breath slowed down enough for him to be able to hear the two speaking. The door was closed, so he had to press his ear against it, and even then the voices were muffled. Wishing he had Fred and George’s extendable ears, he willed his heartbeat to slow down so he could better hear what’s being said inside.

It was Snape’s voice, and Harry shivered with concern. Why had he gone to meet him, all the way out here in the middle of the night? This could not be good news. He struggled to listen. “…know this can all be quite difficult for you, Draco.”

“No, sir,” he heard Draco respond quickly, and something close to relief shot through him. He didn’t sound too scared or hurt. He had to be fine. 

“The task the Dark Lord has given you is far from simple. You knew all the while that it would have an emotional toll on you, on top of the physical. But you mustn’t let it deter you from the mission. Not when you are so close. Are you quite sure Potter doesn’t know?”

“No, he doesn’t. He thinks I am on his side. He still has no idea what my task is.”

There was silence for a few seconds, during which Harry felt pretty queasy. Then Snape gasped. “Did you – Draco, did you get _involved_ with him romantically?” and Harry knew what the silence was; Snape was reaching into his mind. But why did Draco let him see that? Shouldn’t he try his best to hide it? 

“Yes, Professor,” Draco mumbled, and Harry just could not understand. “It was the easiest way to gain his trust. I sensed that’s what he wanted early on this year, so I used it to my advantage.”

“But wouldn’t that make it all the more complicated for you? I know you have struggled before – “

“No, sir, I’ve never struggled – “

“There’s no point in denying it, Draco, I know you well enough. And now with this – new development… it concerns me. I think it could be very dangerous. You know the Dark Lord is very pleased with your progress, but he will not remain patient for long. And if you start developing feelings – “

“I assure you, Professor, nothing of the kind will happen. I am truly devoted to our Lord, with all of my heart. With Potter it is all just – pretending, an act. Once he is thoroughly in my grasp, it shall be no problem to hand him over to the Dark Lord.”

Harry’s stomach turned, and for a second he almost lost his balance. He was so stunned, he nearly missed the next sentence from the Potions master.

“And Dumbledore?”

There was silence for a moment. “The Headmaster still knows only what I chose to tell him. He knows what my mission is, and I’ve guaranteed to him I will not try and complete it, as you’ve advised. He knows nothing of the plan. In his eyes, I have forsaken the task altogether. He still doesn’t trust me, though.”

“No, I didn’t expect him to. But as long as you keep up the pretense with him, he should grant you access to Potter. There may come a time where you will not have that anymore, and you must prepare for that case.”

“Yes, sir. I know I may not have a lot of time with him; that is why claiming his heart was the best way to proceed. With the rate we’re advancing, he will soon listen to me rather than his dear professor.” The bitterness in his voice made it almost unrecognizable. Harry shivered behind the door. “I basically have him feeding off the palm of my hand, sir.”

“And you are quite certain you are not developing any – “

“Please,” Draco scoffed, and it resonated through Harry’s body like a gong. “I have no feelings for the sappy loser. He is so _candid_ and _open_ , it really makes me sick. Whenever I’m with him I can barely hold in my deep aversion.”

“All right, Draco, if you think you can handle it. But I advise you to be very, very cautious. We all know the effect these – people can have on even the most devoted and resilient. Are you sure Potter’s attitude isn’t starting to affect you?”

“No, sir. Absolutely not. I remind myself constantly that he is nothing but a target. I look forward to delivering him to our Lord and getting him off my hands.”

“I see.” Harry wasn’t sure he can keep the nausea inside him, and the silence in the room made it all the more dangerous that he will be heard. Then the boy spoke again, and Harry was completely helpless between the shock, anger and need that filled him.

“I loathe him, sir. For so many years I’ve despised him, and time after time he beat me. But now I have the opportunity to have the upper hand, finally I can best him. And make him pay for what he did to my father… and the Dark Lord. I detest him, you can have no doubt of that. Only, if I’m completely honest, now I also… pity him. He is such a belligerent fool, so trusting and naïve. You can rest assured that my feelings haven’t changed in the least.”

Snape sighed. “I do believe you, Draco; and in any case, you know you can’t lie to me. I would just be cautious, if I were you, not to display any of these – feelings – around him.”

“Don't worry. He will never figure it out. He is in far too deep to ever question again.” There was silence for another minute. And then: “Professor, have you heard anything from – “ Draco’s voice faltered suddenly, and he didn’t complete the sentence. It seemed like the older man understood, though. 

“I’m sorry, but I haven’t. You have nothing to worry about, at least for the moment. You seem to be advancing with your task rather favorably - the Dark Lord has no reason to hurt her.”

“Thank you, Professor.” He swallowed loudly, but Harry was having a hard time concentrating on anything anymore. Little spots of color danced in front of his eyes and his breath was very harsh. He struggled to keep his noises down.

“When is your next encounter with the boy, then?”

“Monday night, sir. I will meet him at nine o’clock.”

“And the plan remains the same? As soon as you get your license?”

“Yes, sir. Nothing has changed. Your plan to approach him as a victim worked seamlessly; there is no need to alter anything.”

“Very well. I shall see you tomorrow in class, Draco. Remember to keep your mind closed and not to let Dumbledore see a single thing. I cannot stress how important it is to ensure he does not find out any details of the plan. He must never learn you are, in fact, working on your task at the very moment.”

“Yes, Professor. Thank you.” Harry flattened himself against the wall just in time as the door swung open and the man came out of it, cloak rustling in the slight wind. Harry only saw his face for a fleeting moment, but he couldn’t have understood its meaning even if he tried. He was in such a state of shock, such dizzying, electrifying shock, that he hardly remembered who he even was. It took him a long, long time to realize the boy was still in there, and he walked forward silently to look inside. Draco was leaning on the window frame, looking out at the star-strewn sky. Harry could see his features in the soft moonlight, and felt something deep inside of him snapping shut. The sadness on that face didn’t make him feel anything; in fact, nothing could. He was in complete daze, absolutely rolling in it, and nothing could penetrate it. 

For a long second he thought about saying something, anything. Demanding an explanation, begging for an excuse. But as that hard, metallic thing in his chest shut, he was doomed. There was no room for explanations, no way for words to make it right again. He turned without saying a thing and practically ran down the stairs, not bothering to breathe, not bothering to look. He tore into the Gryffindor common room, ignoring Ron and Hermione by the fire completely, and ran into his bed, pulling the curtains shut. He will not think about Draco right now. He will not think about Snape. He will not think about Voldemort. He will not think about Draco. 

Harry shook violently, hands clenched into fists, unsure what to do with all this burning lava inside him. He had been angry before, one could say that without a doubt. He felt boiling, burning rage before, the type that makes you want to scream and break and kill. He had been furious, seething, eyes-seeing-nothing-but-blackness type of mad. But this… he had no way to handle this. He had no tools to work around it. He was completely and utterly lost in it, helpless in the raging sea of smoldering hot tar. And he knew that he must calm down, that if he continued this way he will actually burn, but there was no off switch. He was already swimming in it… swimming further and further away… swimming… drowning…

Shoving his fist in his mouth so as not to yell, Harry rolled around in his bed, wholly disoriented. He had no real idea where he was, what had happened. All he was aware of was that scream inside his ears… that hollow, high-pitched scream he had learnt to associate with loss, the one that tore him from the inside out and left him bleeding on the curb. How could this be? He kept asking himself, but no one answered. How could he have been so blind? how could he let this happen? 

I am not thinking about Draco, he told himself again, then shivered with repulsion. Malfoy. I am not thinking about Malfoy. I will never, ever think about Malfoy again. He was dead to him; more dead than his parents, more dead than Sirius. Little voices in the outer parameters of his mind begged him to calm down, to seek a logical explanation, but he shut them down with contempt. There will be no explanation, there was no possible way in hell one would be enough. He had been fooled, all this time he had been fooled, and Draco – Malfoy – he – 

But Harry was not thinking about Malfoy, so he couldn’t quite explain to himself what he had done, or how he was feeling about the blond at the moment. He was not thinking about him, because to think about him made his insides burn and freeze at the same time, and it was physically painful. So he was not thinking about him, and shutting his mind forcefully he crashed hard on the bed once more, rolling in pain and misery. 

At some point Ron must have come into the room, because he called his name gently; Harry prominently ignored him. He couldn’t speak to anyone right now, anyone at all; he was worried if he opened his mouth he will be sick. So he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to empty his mind, concentrating only on his breathing. He was not thinking about Malfoy.

But the blond he was most definitely not thinking about crept in through the back door of his mind and gave him a petulant look. Go away, Harry told him sternly, but he didn’t listen. I am not thinking about you, Harry told him, and still the boy wouldn’t go. He just stared at him, actual evil etched into those grey eyes, and smiled. “You fell for it,” he said softly, and Harry shook his head at the mental image. “You are mine, Potter. And now I will make you dance.” 

He must have been dreaming; there was no way in living hell Malfoy was dancing the waltz with Voldemort in a ballroom, wearing a long lacey dress. Although he knew it was a dream, Harry couldn’t help but crumble with the unbelievable agony, falling to the floor as couple after couple of masked Death Eaters entered the room and started dancing around him. Wailing in pain, unable to get up, Harry could only watch as they drew nearer and nearer, led by Draco and Voldemort who were dancing ever faster, and Voldemort was spinning Draco in a speed that was actually sickening…

Harry woke up with a start and bent low over his bed, retching and only narrowly missing the covers.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry doesn't deal with his anger very well. Surprised?

He couldn’t speak about it to Ron and Hermione the next morning, couldn’t bring himself to repeat a single word he overheard. That left him unable to say anything, because no other thoughts could penetrate the livid haze in his mind at the moment; therefore he was silent. Stunned Ron let him copy his Potions essay, to stunned Hermione’s disapproval, and so he just barely made it through the class alive. All through the day he had to look away whenever he spotted blond hair; all through the day he had a sickening, nauseous feeling in his gut. He was so unbelievingly angry, he snapped quill after quill in class, and in the end stopped taking notes altogether. That was probably for the better anyway, as his handwriting was so shaky, it was practically illegible. 

Draco may have tried to catch his attention throughout the day; he couldn’t have known, as he blatantly ignored him. When evening came and he sat at the Gryffindor table between very concerned Ron and Hermione, toying furiously with his fork, they finally broke down.

“What the hell is happening, Harry?” Ron asked in a low voice, making sure no one around was paying them any attention. “What is going on with you today?”

He couldn’t very well speak, because his jaw was clenched shut, so he just shrugged. Hermione eyed him up wearily. “Harry, come on, talk to us. You’ve been fuming all day. Something is up, definitely.”

Again he could only shrug. The anger bubbling inside him only intensified, so much so that he was physically shaking. His friends registered it, and they passed a worried look between them. “Harry, come on, mate. You have to tell us what’s wrong. If you don’t speak now, I reckon you’re going to explode.”

Hermione sighed when he still didn’t say a thing. “Is this something to do with Mal-“

“Don’t say his name!” Harry burst, unable to stop himself. He crossed his arms over his chest, so mad he was probably steaming out of his ears. “Don’t speak of him to me ever again.”

Now they looked startled. “Did something happen between you two?” Ron asked tentatively, and Harry couldn’t hold it in a second longer.

“Yes, something fucking happened! I was a bloody fool to ever trust that son of a bitch. He made a total arse out of me, and I can’t believe I let it happen.” He was seconds away from frothing at the mouth. Ron and Hermione exchanged another quick look.

“Harry, you have to tell us a little more than that. What has he –“ Hermione started, but he didn’t have the patience to wait. 

“He’s fucking turned, all right? He’s never been on our side. It was all an act, an act so he could butter me all up and hand me over to Voldemort without a fuss. He’s played me, Hermione. Are you happy now? Are you happy I bloody said it?” it was by pure luck that he didn’t shout it at the top of his lungs; his anger only allowed him to let it out as a low hiss. 

“Are you sure? How do you know?” Ron whispered, bending his head towards him. “What happened last night exactly?”

“I overheard him speaking to Snape,” Harry retorted, suddenly too tired to continue his rant. He put both arms crossed on the table, and rested his head on top of them. “He told him everything. How he’s been acting to get me to fall for him while being devoted to Voldemort, the works.”

“But Harry…” Hermione started, and paused with alarm when his head shot back up.

“Do NOT say he was only acting in front of Snape. I know what I heard. He – he told him about us, about the fact we were…” the nausea in his stomach grew more and more intense. “he told him everything, when he’s going to meet me, what we’ve been doing. He was completely honest with him.”

“How do you know?” she pressed on, with what had to have taken a lot of courage seeing Harry’s near-deathly white complexion. “How do you know he was telling him the truth?”

“I just know, all right? The way he spoke… he told him things that… he said it was Snape’s idea all along, playing the victim so I fell for it… with my incurable _soft spot_ for people in pain…” he gave his redhaired friend a nasty look.

“Hey, mate, I just said it cause it’s true,” Ron held out defensively. “But still, aren’t you going to – is there absolutely no chance he was lying to Snape? You know, to save his mum?”

“Not with what he said, no,” Harry’s tone became even more somber. Fire danced in front of his eyes. “I think he is really trying to save her, though. By having me killed.”

There was a thick, deep silence between the three of them. The laughter and chat of people around them seemed to be coming from a very great distance. In the end Hermione spoke. “Harry, I think you should talk to him. Give him a chance to tell you what happened in his words. I think you might benefit from learning how it looked from his eyes.”

“You’ve not heard what he said, Hermione. He was completely honest about – about what a trusting idiot I am, how he pities me. And Snape said it himself; he’s an excellent Legilimence, Malfoy wouldn’t have been able to lie to him. It was no problem for him to lie to me, though… I trusted him all this time… I never even questioned… and it doesn’t even matter if he meant it now or not. All of this, all this time, it was just an act. It wasn’t real.” he buried his face in his hands, and the abyss at the pit of his stomach was pulling him in, threatening to claim him. “All the feelings that – everything that happened between us – it was all a lie.”

“But Harry – “ Ron began, and he simply couldn’t take it anymore.

“What is the problem with you two, anyway? You were right all along, weren’t you? You kept saying how I should keep my distance, how I shouldn’t trust him… he said he _hates_ me,” to his shame and horror, his voice broke, but he had to carry on. “He despises me, all this time he was just acting… getting to me by playing the victim… and I believed him, because I’m a bloody moron. No more, though. He will never, ever speak to me again. I will not have it.” he jumped to his feet without having the slightest idea he was going to do it. “I can’t do this anymore,” he spat before turning around and running out of the Great Hall, not casting a look back. He could feel all the eyes on him, possibly a grey pair from the Slytherin table too, but he didn’t look at anyone. He could not, and he would not, speak of it ever again. If he had to be silent for the rest of his life, so be it. he was a fool for letting it carry on so far; he will not be fooled again.

Then a thought struck him so hard he had to stop right there in the middle of the staircase. Dumbledore. he has to speak to him; he has to tell him exactly what Malfoy said, how Snape was assisting him. He admitted it himself - the headmaster isn’t aware of everything; surely if he knew he would make Malfoy pay. Maybe he will actually throw him in Azkaban; maybe he will expel him and force him to go back to his beloved Voldemort. And his feet were already taking him there, his anger fueling his movements, when something else occurred to him. If he goes to Dumbledore now, he is basically dooming the boy and his mother to death.

 _Well, what are you going to do?_ a voice inside him asked. _You are not going to let yourself be killed for them!_ And that was true enough; he resumed the motions that would take him to the headmaster’s office. _But maybe you don’t have to do it right now,_ another voice said, and he stopped again. Maybe he doesn’t have to get him killed today. Maybe he can wait a little longer, and let Dumbledore catch on to it himself. _And then he will be responsible to whatever happens to the Malfoys, and not you._

In the end the second voice won, only because he really didn’t want another death on his conscience. But at the moment it hardly mattered to him if Malfoy lives or dies; it nearly didn’t matter if he himself lived or died. The only thing keeping him going was his complete and consuming will to make Voldemort pay for what he’s done to him. And that emotion overtook the others finally, because it was stronger than anything else. That was the emotion that took him back to Gryffindor tower and to his bedroom, making him collapse on his bed and draw the curtains shut. He didn’t want to speak to anyone or see anyone; he couldn’t possibly concentrate on anything else. only the hatred burning in his gut, only the anger moving him forwards. He is going to make him pay, he is going to make them all pay. Voldemort, Snape… Malfoy. 

He covered his eyes with one hand so he wouldn’t cry and pushed the other fist into his mouth.

***

The next couple of days were an absolute haze for him; he couldn’t remember a single thing he saw, did or said. By Monday he was vaguely returning to his senses, but still wasn’t ready to meet him. He spent the entire evening pacing the common room, drawing malicious satisfaction from the mental image of Malfoy waiting for him in vain in the Room of Requirement. Then as the week wore on he grew more and more malevolent, his need for revenge more and more prominent. He had to do something, and simply ignoring the blond’s desperate looks wasn’t enough. He wanted to make him pay, wanted to make him hurt. Day after day he seemed more anguished, a thing which Harry, when glancing towards him from the corner of his eye, was satisfied to see. In the end he felt strong enough to do it, and on Friday he sent him a message to meet him at eight. He knew the Slytherin Quidditch team had practice that night, and that the boy will be torn between his obligation to go and seeing Harry after such a long and confusing time. In the end, as he expected, the need to see Harry won, and he arrived precisely on time.

Harry had been there some thirty minutes before it, making sure the room was completely stripped of all Slytherin association. When Draco opened the door he folded his arms in his lap, looking at him serenely. The blond came in hesitantly, a questioning look plastered on his face. “Hello, Malfoy,” he said, pleased to hear his voice wasn’t cracking. 

“Harry – what the fuck is going on? Why didn’t you come on Monday? And why have you been ignoring me all week?” he walked forwards with trepidation, stopping himself a few feet from him. “Is everything all right?”

“Sit,” Harry said mechanically, gesturing towards the sofa in front of him. Confused out of his wits, Draco did as he was told, giving Harry a very perplexed look. 

“Harry, what in the bloody hell – “

“You need to take off your clothes, Malfoy.” Harry watched with satisfaction as the boy shook a little when he registered the use of his last name. 

“What? What are you – “

“I said, take off your clothes. Now.” He didn’t have a concrete plan in mind, nothing too specific; but he wanted to make the Slytherin feel as uncomfortable as he could get, because that would be almost like what he had experienced. A little hesitantly Draco started unbuttoning his shirt, taking it off and laying it carefully on the sofa. He knew something was off, had to have known; Harry’s face must have looked utterly mad. He removed his tie, too, slowly putting it next to him. Then he undid his zipper and took off his trousers, folding and resting them on the shirt. He seemed unsure whether to proceed or not, but Harry wasn’t about to force him to be stark naked. He looked at him rather stiffly. Draco sat back down.

“Harry, what – “

“I’ve been thinking about it, Malfoy, and I don’t want to go out with you anymore. This situation is too complicated for me, as I also need to supervise you, as per Dumbledore’s request. I’m afraid I’ve been a little foolish to let my feelings get in the way of my assignment.”

“What on earth are you talking about, Harry?”

“As I was placed in charge, I have certain responsibilities I’ve been overlooking. I am going to breathe down your neck hard now, Malfoy. no more letting you off the hook like that. You are going to do exactly what I tell you to do, or I go straight to Dumbledore.”

Draco swallowed hard. “Harry, please talk to me. I’m begging you. Tell me what’s going on.” 

“Stop it. Stop speaking to me. I don’t want to hear you ever again. I don’t want you to even look at me anymore. from now on, except for doing as I say, we will have absolutely zero contact.”

There were tears in his eyes, but that didn’t make Harry feel a thing. Not a thing. “Please. Please, Harry.”

“There are going to be a few ground rules from here on out. First of all, you may not call me by my first name. second of all, as I’ve already mentioned, you are not to speak to me. If I see you in the hallway, you better look away. I want no connection with you whatsoever. We are _done_.”

“Why are you doing this?” Draco asked in a shaky voice. 

“You should be glad this is all I’m doing, Malfoy. I could always go to Dumbledore and have you practically executed, instead. You are lucky to be receiving my mercy.”

“Harry,” the blond started softly, then catching the look in his eyes, “Potter – please, what did I do wrong? What’s happened?”

“What did you do wrong?” Harry was unable to keep from laughing menacingly. “Are you seriously asking me that?”

“Well – yes! Something must have happened, you didn’t just change your mind overnight – “

“It was pretty much overnight, actually. Over on Thursday night, sometime after midnight. You see, I had a very illuminating experience that night, and it kind of changed my perspective about things. You, in particular, but also things in general.”

“You – “ and then he gasped, hand covering his mouth, eyes widening in horror. “You heard the conversation. Me and Snape.” 

“Yep, that’s the ticket!” he was yelling now, but he didn’t care. “I heard all about how you only pretended to be my friend in order to send me over to Voldemort! How you pity my foolish trusting and bloody goodness!”

“Harry, you have to understand – I had to say these things, I had to lie to him, otherwise he would have told Him straight away – “

“Oh don’t you try playing that card with me, Malfoy!” he spat. Rubbing his eyes furiously with the heels of his hands, he had to draw some strength to carry on. “I know you told him the truth, he said so himself! and it explains so many things! I’ve never even wondered why you confided in me the first place, why you seemed so different in the beginning of the year – “

“No, you don’t understand – I am not really going to do it, I’m not going to perform his task, I was only lying so he doesn’t say anything! Bloody hell, Harry, I chose you!”

“I DON’T BELIEVE YOU!” Harry roared, throwing his hands flailing in the air. “I don’t believe a single word out of your mouth, you stinking, slimy bastard!”

“Look – “ Draco’s desperation drove him to his feet, and he started walking towards Harry, stopping just a short distance for him. “The things I told him – it may have started out that way, with his plan to portray me as a victim, so you would… take pity on me and let me in. but Harry, it’s changed so much since then – I’ve changed so much, you have changed me! I wouldn’t be able to do it now, even if I tried! Which I most certainly am not!”

“Can’t you see that it doesn’t matter now?” Harry screamed. “Don’t you see that none of this matters anymore? All this time you’ve been lying to me, deceiving me! You didn’t really like me, you were only trying to get close to me to sell me out! You never even wanted my help!”

“No, that’s not true,” Draco whispered, his hands meeting in front of his chest in a pleading motion. “At first I didn’t want your help – I didn’t think you could help me! The Dark Lord threatened my life, my parents’ lives, and there was no one for me to turn to except Snape, who helped me scheme this plan. But then the closer I got to you, I... started to understand how things were. And I realized that maybe you really could help me, and then when my mother wanted to escape – “

“Come on, don’t think for a moment I believe that was real!” Harry cried out, but he was listening. 

“It was! Potter, listen, up until then – I was struggling so hard, I was beside myself with anguish. I didn’t know what to do; you were being so bloody kind and good and I knew I was betraying your trust, I knew I was doing something horrible… but what could I do, knowing if I stopped, my mother would be murdered? And you were so fucking understanding…” he covered his eyes with one shaky hand. “Snape saw the turmoil in me, he saw I was close to backing out, so he came up with the idea to bring her along. That way I would be reminded of what I stand to lose – “

“And I would be more convinced of your situation,” Harry supplemented coldly. Draco nodded. 

“But his plan backfired, don’t you understand? Instead of forcing me to stick with the plan, she gave me a way out. When she said she wanted to run away, that gave me a whole new range of opportunities. Maybe I didn’t have to sacrifice her, maybe I didn’t have to betray you… maybe I didn’t have to make this awful, impossible choice.” His hand fell back to his side and his eyes were swimming in tears. “I went to Dumbledore and told him everything. What I said to Snape that night wasn’t true; I kept nothing from the headmaster, I revealed it all to him. I thought he will send me away so I couldn’t hurt you, or punish me for bringing the Dark Lord’s wishes into the castle… instead he – he – he trusted me.” His voice broke. Harry gulped in surprise when the boy, unable to stand on his wobbly legs anymore, simply fell to his knees on the carpet. “He said – he can see there is still good in me. And that he thinks that I – that I can make the right choice, when the time came.” He bowed his head, shaking violently all the while. “I didn’t want to hurt you, Harry. I never even wanted to take that bloody mission. I had no choice, but then you – you changed it. you gave me a choice. And that was everything I needed…”

“Snape said you couldn’t lie to him,” Harry said quietly. He wasn’t ready for the huge scoff from the blond.

“Snape has no idea what I can or cannot do. I let him see some more than he expected to find, because he suspects I can block him if I wanted to. I had to tell him all these things, because I could see he didn’t believe me. He didn’t trust me, and if he left that night thinking I’d changed my mind, I have no doubt my mother would be dead by morning. So I went on and on about how much I hate you, when in fact, Harry, it is the total opposite. I don’t hate you at all. I – I love you.”

“Don’t,” he said curtly, closing his eyes. “Don’t you dare, Malfoy.”

“Please, you have to believe me. I know I’ve been terrible – what I’ve done is truly unpardonable. But you must believe me that my feelings for you have changed.”

“There is nothing you can say that will ever make me trust you, ever again.” He gave him a cold look. “Not only that you lied to me in the beginning, but all this time, you had so many opportunities to come clean – to gain my trust – “

“I tried telling you,” Draco cried, but Harry overrode him.

“you didn’t try **hard enough**!” that kept him silent for a long moment. 

“I know,” he said, deflating right in front of Harry’s eyes. “I know. And I’m so, so sorry. I just knew that the second you have learnt, you will never trust me again. You wouldn’t want me around anymore. And I’ve – I’ve been selfish, and a coward. I’m so sorry.”

“Well you should be,” Harry spat, no empathy left in him. “You’ve broken my trust, Malfoy, and there’s no going back from that. I could never – I can’t even look at you right now.”

“I understand,” he whispered, not daring to look at him. 

“You should leave now, before I do something stupid. I don’t think I can bottle my anger for much longer tonight.”

There was a slight pause. “You should try the Cruciatus curse,” Draco said, now finally looking up at him. “Maybe this is the opportunity you were waiting for.”

“I’m not going to torture some poor bug right now to make me feel better – “

“I didn’t mean on the cockroaches,” he said in a soft voice. “You should try it on me.”

“You are mental,” Harry hissed, shaking his head. “You are absolutely mental. I don’t see how I never spotted it before.”

“Please, Harry –You have to master them, otherwise, you stand no chance in the fight against him. And this could be the best opportunity you get. If you have no use for me anymore – if you will not let me near you any other way – at least let me give you this.” He was actually begging him.

“You’re speaking rubbish, Malfoy. I’m not going to bloody torture you. This is mental.”

“Please, don’t think about it like that. Think of it as if you’re… finally punishing me.” He swallowed hard. “It probably wouldn’t hurt so much, anyway. and I’ve had way worse done to me, I might not even feel it. Please, do it.”

“No,” Harry said, gritting his teeth.

“Potter – “

“No!”

“Harry…” and hearing him say his name, in that familiar way, with all that fake emotion to it – him having the audacity to tell him he loves him – he couldn’t take it anymore; his vision went all black as he raised his wand, the volcano of rage spilling inside him. He looked Malfoy dead in the eyes as he uttered the curse, but it wasn’t his face he was seeing at all; it was a snakelike face of red, burning eyes.

“Crucio,” he said in his softest, most evil whisper. He could actually feel the power surging through him, exiting via his hand and transmitting through his wand; the anger, the hate, all his bitterness refined into that pure, green light… it was exhilarating; Harry felt like he’s being cleansed from all this maddening sea inside him, from all the black holes that lingered in the void inside him and threatened to pull him in… there was such a loud screech in his ears, he could hardly even hear the boy gasping, yelling… this was what he needed, this was the only way to rid himself of this ugly, burning feeling… but then Draco fell and his heart stopped.

For the longest moment, he couldn’t even think. the boy crumpled to the floor in front of him, and Harry could just stare at his pale body, at the face that was now devoid of any color. It felt like he was moving in slow motion as he rose to his feet then fell next to him, shaking his shoulders and trying to wake him. The blood in his ears still made it impossible to hear a thing as he was shouting at the top of his lungs: “Malfoy!”

At long last, the Slytherin woke up. He looked a little dazed at first, rising to a sitting position and backing up against the table. Then he gave Harry a shaky little smile, and his heart sank inside him. “That was… unexpectedly successful,” he said so weakly, it actually hurt to hear. There were evident traces of pain still in his eyes, the shadows underneath them darker, and Harry never felt more sorry about anything in his life. 

“Malfoy, I’m so – this was such a stupid idea – I can’t believe I actually – “

“It’s fine, Potter, don’t worry about it.” rather shakily he got up, and Harry keeled with shame when he looked at his thin body. had he really forced him to remove his clothing? How could he actually use that curse on him? Who was this boy acting on his behalf? Harry felt like a total stranger to himself. “I know what I did was inexcusable. I don’t expect you to forgive me, ever. But I’m begging you…” he rubbed his eyes, and Harry trembled a little with shame and fear. “Please don’t tell anyone anything. I mean, about what you and I have been doing. Please, I can’t have Snape knowing more than he already does. I’m… not asking for myself.” And he fell right back on his knees in front of Harry on the floor, who could only gasp in shock. “Please. My future lies completely in your hands. I’m begging you not to jeopardize my mother’s life.”

“I – of course I won’t,” Harry said, aghast. “No, Malfoy, of course I won’t.”

“Thank you. I realize this is far more than I deserve. I promise you, I will never approach you again without your say so. And you can – punish me – in whatever way you deem fit.” He seemed so morose, something inside the metallic object in his chest quivered. But he quickly recovered, and rearranged his face into an icy expression. 

“Fine. You should leave now.” He didn’t have the heart to say anything else at the moment, whether to himself or to him. Draco nodded once and got to his feet, shakily getting dressed and leaving without looking back. Harry remained on the floor, trying to arrange his confused thoughts, trying to remember who in fuck’s name he is.


	22. Chapter 22

This was, without a doubt, the worst he had ever felt. Upon returning to Gryffindor that night he told anxious Ron and Hermione everything Malfoy said, omitting the part where Harry used an Unforgiveable curse on him. He still couldn’t quite believe he did it; it was like someone else had taken control of his body somehow and did it using him. But Harry wasn’t going to fool himself; he knew full well it was him, fueled by his rage and feeling of betrayal. to find out he had such a dark side – was capable of doing such terrible things – was wholly rattling. He hadn’t slept a wink all night, and come Saturday morning he refused to go down to breakfast with the others. All he wanted to do was wallow in his sadness and pain and never see the light of day again.

By afternoon hunger had won, and he deigned to go to lunch with Ron and Hermione. They were still trying to speak to him about the other night, though, so after he stuffed his face with tasteless food he soon left them and went for a walk around the lake. The bleak, windy day did nothing to improve his spirits, and his mood was even more dour when he finally returned to the common room. The other two were on a sofa, whispering to each other, and they gave him a wary look when he sank into a seat next to them.

“Had a good walk, buddy?” Ron asked calmly, and Harry grumbled something in his direction. Hermione took one look at him and sighed.

“Harry, this is getting out of hand. You need to talk to him.”

“I’ve already talked to him. I said all I had to say. There’s nothing more I want to hear from him.”

“But this is ridiculous! I’m not going to suffer silently through another week of… this.” She waved her hand in his direction. “This sullen mood is no good for anyone, really. And what he said sounded very sincere from what you’ve told us. I hate to say this to you, Harry, but I think you’re overreacting.”

“I’m overreacting?” he couldn’t believe his ears. Adjusting the glasses on his nose, he gave her the haughtiest look he could muster. “Are you even listening to yourself? He was lying to me _for months_. He only ever got close to me to wheel me off to Voldemort! How on earth am I **overreacting**?”

“Well that might have been how it started, yes. But we all know this isn’t what’s happening now. He’s changed, Harry, and you know it. he really cares about you, that much is obvious. It might be, er, unfortunate he never said anything – “

“ _Unfortunate_?” Harry repeated, outraged, but she wasn’t done.

“Yes, unfortunate! but what did you really want him to say? Please trust me, oh and by the way, I’ve only recently stopped conspiring your death? He knew the moment he told you, you’d be gone!”

“Well, isn’t that just the appropriate reaction to hearing something like that?” Harry was genuinely confused.

“Maybe, yes, but… there’s other things to consider here.” Her eyebrows were all the way up on her forehead. “He had his mother’s life on the line, Harry. Think about what you would have done if it was the case. And still, although he was aware of the risk, he changed his mind! He chose you!”

“He didn’t choose me, he only tried to save her life – “

“He went to Dumbledore, didn’t he?” Ron interfered, looking a little timid yet carrying on with determination. “He told him everything. He wouldn’t have done it if he hadn’t truly changed his mind.”

“Well I – I mean, he _says_ he told him everything, but did he really? How could I ever trust what he says?”

“You can ask Dumbledore, for one,” Hermione had the tone of voice she used to point out the obvious. “He can tell you everything he knows, and you can see if it matches. then you’d know if Malfoy was telling you the truth or not.”

“I – “ Harry had to think it over. “Does it even matter if he told me the truth now? He kind of had no choice, he had his back against the wall. And even if he did change his mind, even if some of it was real,” he said, full of doubt, “how could I ever forgive what he’s done in the beginning? All the lying and the making me fucking fall for him?”

“Are you saying you love him, Harry?” Ron asked, wide eyed. Harry felt his cheeks burn.

“No! I don’t - I don’t know, okay? Right now I hate every hair on his stupid head. But before that I was – I mean, I was definitely heading in that direction. And he was leading me there, on purpose, although in reality he felt nothing.”

“I don’t believe that for a second, Harry. I don’t believe he felt nothing. I think he feels very strongly for you. But you’re right – none of this matters if you can’t forgive him.” Hermione let out a long sigh. “But if it would put your mind at ease, I do think you should speak to Dumbledore. at least in that case you will know you are safe.”

Harry took her words to heart, but he was still way too upset about it all of the next week to act up on them. Seeing Draco in all his classes was becoming unbearable, more painful than he could have ever imagined. Malfoy did as he requested; he never looked at him or spoke to him, even once. Harry tried to do the same, but it was like trying not to look at an eclipse. It was mesmerizing and terrifying and painful all at the same time. He hated every second of it. the feelings inside him were clashing all the time; the need to hold him and to be near him hadn’t subsided in the least, only now it had to compete with the urge to smash his head into a wall. Or better yet, to fuck him raw; Harry had dreams about the angry, painful sex he could be having with him. Of course, he wasn’t going to do that; he wasn’t about to touch him, and definitely not in that way. But what was he about to do… he had no idea.

In the end there was nothing he could do but to go and speak to the headmaster, so by Friday two weeks later, that’s what he did. He felt like the old man was almost expecting him when he welcomed him into his office, sitting as usual behind the long desk, wearing his sparkling purple cloak.

“What brings you here tonight, Harry?” he supplied his question with the familiar x-ray piercing look that Harry so loved and feared, and that was more than he could bear. He nearly exploded as he landed on the seat in front of him.

“Please, Professor, you have to help me. I need to hear everything that Malfoy told you that night we came to see you. I need to know if –I can trust him.”

The old man gave him a weary smile. “Usually I do not disclose my personal conversations with students to others, Harry.” There was a little bit of a twinkle in his admonishing look. “But since young Mr. Malfoy said I could reveal it all to you, I think that should be okay.”

“What? When did he say this?” Harry asked, confused.

“That very night. he wasn’t extremely keen on you finding out, for obvious reasons, so I never pushed the matter further; but he did say he believed you had the right to know.” Dumbledore sighed and stroked his long beard. “That night when you came to me, Harry, I have to admit I had already known about Draco’s task.”

“You did? But how did you – “ and then it hit him. “Snape.”

“Yes, _Professor_ Snape had already told me. But it was very important to me to hear it from the boy himself; although I gave Severus the mission of keeping an eye on him, I didn’t quite know if I can trust Draco. Of course, the fact that he lost all faith in Severus made it that much more complicated to know what he really planned to do.”

“So – what did he tell you, that night?” Harry asked very uncomfortably.

“He confessed to having received the task of delivering you to Lord Voldemort. He was told that he has until the end of the year, which of course was an impossible demand, since as Voldemort knows very well, no one can force you out of Hogwarts, where you are perfectly safe.”

“That’s why he had to go another way, to win my trust,” he mumbled bitterly. Dumbledore nodded.

“He told me that the plan was simple; use your tendency, well known to Voldemort by now, to always aid a person in need. They hatched a scheme for Draco to befriend you and learn your weaknesses, then as soon as he passes his Apparition test, he could lure you to Hogsmeade under false pretenses and take you to Malfoy Manor. There, of course, you will have been greeted by our mutual acquaintance, Bellatrix. She would then bring you and Draco to Voldemort, where he will receive his award… and you will meet your end.”

Harry was too stunned to reply to that for a long, long time. He cleared his throat, all the while looking right into the blue eyes. “And you knew that? You knew that and you – you let him stay and try to do it? And not just that, but you pushed him even further in my direction? Sir?” he added the last bit a little hurriedly.

Dumbledore sighed. He gave Harry a very warm, almost pitying look. “Of course not, Harry. It was very clear to me from the moment he arrived that Draco Malfoy is not going to perform his task. The reason I veered him more towards you was only to ensure there was no possibility he would. I knew he would not for quite some time.”

“What? How did you know that?” he refused to believe this; again with Dumbledore’s bloody _trust_?

“Well, he did say so himself. but more than that, I could see it in him. He has changed completely, both over the terrible summer he had to endure, and after that in his encounters with you. He has learned to know you, Harry. He could never betray you after that; no, I’m inclined to believe he would give his life for you, if necessary.”

“What makes you think that?” Harry nearly scoffed. Dumbledore’s look was very serious now.

“He had to face a choice, Harry. A difficult, terrible choice, one that none should ever have to make. He begged me to send him to Azkaban, to hurt him enough so he can’t make that choice; but of course, that is not the way these things work. I presented him with his options, but made it clear he had to make a decision. And he did.” A light, pained smile shone on his face momentarily. “He chose you.”

“What does that even mean?” Harry asked, outraged. “He said the same thing, but really, what does that mean?”

“It means that at the face of adversity, he chose true. He chose _good_. Faced with an impossible decision, he could see that it was not merely a case of a life versus a life; he could see what it meant to save you, to save our world. And he was willing to lose everything for that. Everything, Harry.”

“That’s what he’s told you, here! How can you be so sure it is the truth? How do you know what he told Snape isn’t true? That the moment he hears you can’t save his mum, he’ll turn around and stab me in the back?” there was no more room for politeness in his talk.

Dumbledore tilted his head and gave him a measuring look. “Well, that is not going to happen. You see, Harry, Draco was informed in the middle of February that his mother has been moved to reside with her fugitive husband at Lord Voldemort’s side. He came to see me immediately, and I had the daunting task of relaying to him there is nothing we can do for her anymore. I am sorry to say Narcissa had missed her window, and unfortunately, her options are out.”

“What?” Harry forgot to breathe. “But why did – how come you never told me, Professor?” his voice came out as a whisper. He was a little too shocked to notice. This happened a month ago? How could this be? Then a sudden thought came to him. “Wait, could it have been – was it maybe on the thirteenth that you told him? the night before Valentine’s day?”

Dumbledore’s nod was like an elbow to his stomach. Suddenly that odd night came into a completely different view. “I was under the impression he would tell you himself. I thought it might be best if you two spoke about it, without my interference.” Dumbledore’s eyes were large and mournful. “At this meeting with him, Harry, I had some very difficult questions to pose. I used Legilimency to the best of my abilities, and a little bit of Veritaserum too. I forced him, in a manner of speaking, to make his choice now; either go to the Dark Lord and attempt to reach you, or surrender himself fully and face the repercussions of his actions. He chose the latter; he chose you.”

“What sort of repercussions?” Harry’s head was spinning. Dumbledore gave him a grave look.

“Well, I may have made some, er, suggestions as to what those might entail. I’m afraid to say I may have gone a little too far; he did leave the office looking rather pale. But that was all a part of the test, only to see how he would react. He cares for you, Harry, a great deal. I understand it might be a little hard to believe now, but it is true.”

“I don’t know how I could ever believe it, Professor. He – he can say anything in here, where it’s safe and secure; he knows you wouldn’t ever hurt him. and of course he wouldn’t admit to you that he’s choosing the other side.”

Dumbledore chuckled very softly. “Although I am happy you feel safe in my presence, Harry, I must enclose to you that not all wizards do. Draco, who was raised by Death Eaters, certainly does not feel comfortable around me. To you I may be only a friendly old headmaster; to Draco I’m probably the greatest threat he has ever heard of. Except, of course, for Lord Voldemort.” Harry opened his mouth to say something, to ensure to Dumbledore that he in no way disregards his great powers, but the headmaster didn’t seem too offended. Anyway, he continued too quickly: “And there is something other than words that can give you an indication, Harry. First you must consider the fact that Draco hadn’t attempted anything since learning his mother could not be released. Even more than that - the Apparition test is tomorrow, and Draco told me he plans to fail it, and prove once and for all he is not going to try and whisk you away.” He raised his eyebrows slightly. “Wait for tomorrow and see how he does.”

“But – but it’s not like he’s so great at it,” Harry was still rather reluctant. “He could be failing just because he is bad at it, or because he is nervous or something.”

“Harry, Draco has been able to apparate ever since he was fourteen years old. I have seen him do it with my own eyes one summer I came to attend a school board meeting with his father. I assure you he has not lost the capability to do so.”

Harry had no response to that. He looked around him, thinking of more reasons not to trust the boy, more things he could have done wrong. ”He told me that he loved me,” was the befuddled thing he said in the end, quite shocked with himself. Dumbledore smiled at him rather sadly.

“Love is the greatest and most terrible power of all, Harry, as you’ve learnt only too well. It can make us do the most awful things… and the most magnificent, too.” He clasped his hands together, and Harry knew it was time for him to leave. He thanked the professor and left the room, far more confused and unsure than he was when he first came in.

***

Ron and Hermione were back around lunchtime the next day, and Harry was very grateful that they came to see him first before going to eat. They both seemed very flushed with the drafty wind, and highly excited. “We passed!” Hermione exclaimed the minute she spotted him, running over to give him a big hug. “We both passed! Ron did amazingly well, you should have seen him – he landed exactly at the center of the ring, I was so proud.”

“That’s brilliant! Congratulations!” he tried to be excited for them, he really did. But the doubt at the back of his head was nagging all the more forcefully, and he couldn’t very well take it much longer.

“He failed,” Ron said, clearly reading his mood correctly. “Malfoy. he failed.”

Harry’s eyes shot up with surprise. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, he landed about five feet off where he should have. Made a right mess too, bumping into an old lady who was just passing by. I never saw the instructor get so mad in my life; there was no way in hell he could have passed after that.”

It was like something was squeezing his heart very hard and very fast. Rather than a metallic tin, it started to feel like a normal organ again. He stared at his two friends, flabbergasted.

“Will you be willing to speak to him now?” Hermione asked shrewdly, and he really had no idea.

“I… I guess,” he said, uncertain.

“Look, mate, it doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t mean that you have to forgive him, or that you have to speak to him again. It’s just that – you’ve been so miserable lately, it’s kind of hard to see.” Ron put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “It’s totally up to you.”

Hermione gave him an equally understanding look. “You know we’d support you no matter what. If you want to cut him out of your life completely, we’d never speak of him again. But if you want to go and talk to him…” she sighed and put her hand on his other shoulder, “then you should really do it now.”

He had to think about that. This was, by far, the most difficult test he had to go through regarding the other boy. In his previous tests, he proved nearly incapable of staying away from him; whether to beat him up, to rush to his aid to simply to offer him a hand. But what would he do now? Could he possibly trust him? Could he open his heart again, ever, and more importantly – to him? And the biggest, most daunting question of them all; could he really let him go? He deliberated with himself for a second, before realizing he knew what he wanted to do for a long time now. He smiled at them both, and with an afterthought pulled them both into a tight, awkward group hug. Then, without looking at the map, he left the common room and started running. He knew where to go.

The owlery was deserted, expect for one boy sitting on the open window ledge looking out. All the owls were asleep, as it was daytime, and there were no yellow eyes looking down at him this time. Slowly, and feeling like something large and sticky was jammed in his throat, Harry moved towards him. It was bitter cold for a sunny March afternoon. He walked very quietly, trying not to step on any crackly bones or make any sound. At last he stood right behind him, and he could sense Draco tensing up as he grew aware of his presence. Quickly he turned, and upon seeing who it was, jumped up with alarm.

"I’m sorry," he mumbled, hastening to get to his feet. "I didn’t realize – I was just leaving."

Harry looked at him, at that pointy face he imagined to death over the past few months. First it was with great enthusiasm, then with hatred unlike he had ever known; then with something resembling grief. The face that caused him so much pain, so much agony. The face he dreamed of every night. The face he loved.

Unable to take it anymore, and with a great sob, he pushed Draco against the wall and crashed their lips together.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings! This chapter includes triggers such as self harm and just... well... tons of angst and pain. Draco is properly broken, and it may hurt to see. It sure does Harry.

It was a kiss unlike they ever shared before; it was fierce, and desperate, and angry. Their teeth clashed as they devoured each other, tongues colliding, noses bumping hard. Harry’s hands went straight up; one was pinning Draco’s wrist to the wall, the other at his throat, almost choking him. He didn’t care that that boy dug his nails so deep into his flesh; didn’t care his glasses were threatening to gouge Draco’s eyes out; he didn’t care he couldn’t breathe. he _had_ to kiss him, and he had to do it _now_ ; there was simply no other way.

But then the nails hurt a little too much and he pulled away, allowing Draco to take a deep, coughing breath. The grey eyes were burning with feelings as they locked onto his, and he really didn’t know what he could say to him, so he lunged forward and kissed him again.

This time both hands were pinning both of Draco’s wrists above his head, so he was unable to push Harry away; his body slammed against Draco’s, crushing him hard into the wall, kissing him like he’s oxygen and Harry was drowning. Draco tilted his head to the side, letting Harry’s tongue explore his mouth more intensely, his own sinking into Harry’s throat nearly. Harry bit his lip hard, making him gasp, then went on to attacking his neck. It was a non-compromising, _owning_ kind of kiss; it told Draco clearly and firmly, you are mine. He wasn’t at all sure that was the message he wanted to convey before he did it, but his tongue and his body did it for him, and he knew it was true. He couldn’t let Draco be Voldemort’s, he just couldn’t. Not when he belonged to him.

Pulling back, panting, Harry looked at him. All those mixed feelings that tormented his mind for nearly three weeks washed over him, and he was utterly helpless. He was almost forced to the ground by the sheer intensity of them, and for a second he lost his balance.

It seemed like Draco understood, because he grabbed him with both arms and straightened him up, looking right into his eyes. He must have been waiting for Harry to speak first, for he was silent. Harry thought hard for something to say.

“This doesn’t mean I forgive you,” he said in the end, unable to take the bitter edge off his tone.

“I understand,” the boy uttered, not letting go of him.

“It’s just that I – I – fuck, Malfoy. fucking hell. I fucking hate you.” There was pain in the grey eyes, but he still didn’t let go. “Why did you have to ruin everything? Why did you have to break my bloody heart?”

“I’m so sorry. So, so sorry.” he seemed unable to say anything more. Harry felt his heart seizing in his chest, the mad rush almost blinding him, to be near him, _nearer_.

“You failed your test today,” he said, because he couldn’t think of something else. The blond seemed surprised.

“Yes, I did. How did you – “

“Dumbledore told me.” Draco’s eyes widened with understanding. “He said your evil plan all this time was to get your license and apparate me away. But then you failed, even though apparently you’ve been able to do it ever since you were a kid.”

“It just wasn’t my day,” Draco mumbled, finally releasing Harry’s shoulders. He gave him a stern look.

“All year you’ve been pretending to suck at these lessons, when actually you could have gotten it on your first try?”

Draco shrugged. “It wasn’t all year; Apparition lessons didn’t start until December.”

It hit Harry not like a ton of bricks, but like a thousand tons. “When you’d already decided you were not going to do it.”

“I wanted it to seem like I failed for a reason,” his voice was almost inaudible. “So it wouldn’t look out of place. I guess it doesn’t matter, now, if Crabbe and Goyle know I did it on purpose or not. She is going to die just the same. And so am I.” Harry’s heart nearly dropped to his knees from the pain in his voice.

“Malfoy – how could you possibly not tell me they have her? How did you not say anything?”

“I – well, I wanted to tell you,” he admitted weakly. “I was going to, that same night, but I just couldn’t. It was all so… and I was still thinking of ways to go around it, of what I could do. And then the next time we were supposed to meet, you didn’t come, and then, well… After we talked I figured Dumbledore told you. I thought you knew.”

“You thought I knew and what, just ignored it? And you didn’t try to speak to me about it? To me or to anyone?”

“I didn’t think I had anyone to talk to. I – didn’t think you’d cared.” His eyes were fixated on the wall behind Harry’s head. 

“You didn’t think I _cared_?” Harry asked, incensed. “How could you be so stupid?”

“I understood just how much you hated me when you were able to pull the Cruciatus curse.” He lowered his gaze to the droppings-littered floor. “To know that you loathed me so much to actually be able to do it – I just didn’t think you’d care about anything to do with me, after that.”

Harry sighed, covering his face with his hands. “I wasn’t able to pull it out of hate for _you_ , Malfoy.” Draco leaped up in amazement. “I was… picturing Voldemort. Because I know he was the real reason you did what you did to me.”

“Potter, you must know – I understand you have no reason to believe me, none at all, but I am telling you the truth. I admit that at first, I only became close to you in order to trick you. But then when you – opened up to me…” he shook his head, and Harry wasn’t sure if he’s strong enough to hear the rest, but he remained quiet nonetheless. “You’ve changed everything in me, Harry. Everything. And I was honestly, truly defenseless against you. I fell for you, which was the most stupid thing I have ever done, but it couldn’t be helped. I am so, so sorry that I hurt you. You have every right to hate me, to despise me. But know that the way I felt about you was true and strong and real. It was the best, purest thing that has ever happened to me in my life.”

“It _was_?” Harry asked, eyebrow raised. “You _felt_?” Draco nodded, bewildered. “Are you trying to say you don’t anymore?” he gave him one long, stunned look. Then, without a second’s notice, he fell to his knees in front of him. Harry grunted, rolling his eyes. “Get the fuck up, Malfoy.”

Draco shook his head, looking at him with all the seriousness and verity he had. “Harry, I am yours. Utterly, desperately yours. Whether you will have me or not, even if you hate me forever. I am yours.”

“Come on, Malfoy, get up,” Harry took a step towards him, offering him a hand. “I’m not bloody Voldemort, I don’t need you to kneel before me. I just need you to – I don’t know. Be honest with me. And not have any crazy plans to off me every two seconds.”

“I’m so sorry,” Draco said again, bowing his head. “I will never lie to you again. Never.”

“All right, then, you can get up.” Harry shook the hand in front of his face until he took it, then he pulled him up. He noticed that in the last three weeks he hadn’t been looking at him, Malfoy lost about ten pounds off his weight.

“Harry, I know you didn’t want to hear it before, and I understand if you aren’t ready to hear it now, but you must know it is true. I care about you so much.”

He didn’t know what to say to that. Maybe he really wasn’t ready to hear it. “I will need some time before I can even think about trusting you again,” he said honestly. “But I can’t keep up like this, not talking to you and ignoring you all the time. Especially when I know – hell, Malfoy, you must be so torn up about your mum.”

The grey eyes looked at him for a second, then back down to the floor. “I try not to think about her too often,” he said flatly. “So I only do… most of the day, and all night.” he swallowed heavily. “This doesn’t need to be your burden to share, Harry. It is my fault all this is happening; it was my choice to make.”

“No,” Harry said, stunned. “Malfoy, it’s so not your fault! You were forced into this position by a madman. You did everything you could to help her, but it really was never your decision in the first place. And it _shouldn’t_ have been. It is all Voldemort, all his fault.”

Draco nodded, but his stare was still rather vacant. Harry sighed and pulled him into an embrace, unable to see him like this without holding him. On top of that, he needed to hold him… he needed to do it for so, so fucking long…

Draco shook his head and tried to pull out of the hug. “Please, Harry – I really don’t want to burden you with this. I know you are still furious with me, and I’ve hurt you enough for a lifetime.”

“That’s not how it works, you moron,” Harry whispered as he only held him tighter. “I told you before, I won’t let any hurt feelings stand in my way. I fucking care about you, despite the fact you are the world’s greatest prat. And I want to be here for you. I **am** here for you. So shut up and hug me back, you git.”

He did; enclosing his arms around Harry’s back and leaning his head on Harry’s shoulder, Draco sort of melted into him. Harry held as tightly as he dared without choking him, and even that didn’t feel like enough. He needed to feel him, to taste him again - every inch of his body was burning with desire. But he knew Draco was crushed, and so miserable, and so afraid and alone; that sadness actually brought tears to the green eyes. He was furious, still, but now with himself as well, for letting Draco go through this by himself for such a long time. He was still mad at him, of course, but he could tell that it would slowly transform into something more manageable. Right now, though, he couldn’t focus on the anger. He had to be a man of his word. He had to support the fuck out of him, even if only so that he would be able to yell at him all he wants later. And also, perhaps more importantly - because Draco’s pain absolutely broke his heart, even more so than his betrayal. Confused and sad and annoyed, Harry buried his head in Draco’s neck, unsuccessfully trying to suppress his own sobs.

***

Harry led the way to the Room of Requirement physically pulling him by the hand; Draco didn’t seem like he was even aware of what’s happening. They didn’t take notice of the people staring at them wide eyed in the corridors; it didn’t really matter anymore if they were seen. Once they got to the room and Harry managed to get the door open, he had to literally carry the blond inside, as he seemed to have lost any ability to move. He placed him on the sofa, noting to himself with pain how light his body was, and sat down next to him.

“Shit, Malfoy,” he said at long last, looking at the pale face up close. Draco looked far, far worse than he had all year. His eyes were huge in his pale face, and his cheeks seemed rather hollow. It looked like much more than three weeks passed since Harry had really seen him. “What have you been doing to yourself?”

Draco shrugged, looking at him only for a second, then averting his gaze quickly to the rug. “I wasn’t very absorbed with myself recently. My thoughts have been – elsewhere.”

“So you stopped eating? Sleeping?” Harry’s voice suggested incredulity, but remained soft.

“What was the point?” Draco asked, and the words were like a knife through Harry’s heart. “I knew her days were numbered. Every day I’d wake up and ask myself, is this it? Is this the day I’d finally receive the news? And – knowing how much you hate me…” he shook his head, and Harry couldn’t swallow anymore, since his whole throat was on fire. “As soon as school is over I will be too, in any case. There is not much reason to do anything.”

“That’s bullshit, Malfoy. Nothing is going to happen to you when school is over. Dumbledore’s not going to let that happen. Hell, I am not going to let that happen.”

The Slytherin still wasn’t looking at him. “He cannot guarantee my safety, Harry. No one can - once the Dark Lord hears of my betrayal, he will want to kill me in person. No one can survive once he decides to kill them – well, no one but you.” His colorless cheeks were becoming a touch pink.

“Listen to me,” Harry said slowly and clearly. “He is not going to touch you. I am not going to let him. You do _not_ belong to him anymore; there is nothing he can do to you.”

Now he raised his head, giving him a skeptical look. “Harry, you can’t look at me without feeling sick. You hate me. Why would you ever try to protect me?”

“I hate you, maybe, yeah. But that’s not… all of it. I still care about you, even though you’ve hurt me. And I don’t want anything bad to happen to you. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“You don’t have to lie, Harry. I could see it in your eyes the last time we spoke. You wanted to do something bad to me yourself. You wanted to hurt me.”

“Yes… I guess,” Harry wasn’t going to try and deny that. “But it was only because I was so angry, I couldn’t really control it. Listen, I never really – I didn’t actually say I’m sorry for what I did. I am. Really, really sorry.”

Draco expelled a disbelieving gasp. “You can’t be serious.”

“Why not?” Harry’s eyebrow shot up. His hand froze in his hair.

“You can’t possibly apologize to me. Not after what I did.”

“What, so because you were a murderous traitor, it’s okay that I used a bloody Unforgiveable on you? No, that’s not the way it works. That’s not the way _I_ work. That was the most evil, darkest thing I ever did in my life; I lose sleep about it still. So just say you fucking forgive me so I can even try to put that terrible memory behind me.”

Draco nodded quickly. “I do. Of course, I forgive you.”

“Good,” he huffed. He crossed his arms on his chest. “So…” he had no idea what to say further. “I guess we don’t have to hide from Snape anymore?”

Draco turned an impossibly whiter shade of pale. “I suppose it doesn’t matter. When my father hears I failed my test, he will know immediately I did it on purpose. He’s seen me apparate many times before, and now that she is with him...” He bit his lip. “In any case, Snape knows.”

“He does? You’ve spoken to him?”

“After I got the letter from my mother. I – well, _speak_ wasn’t exactly what I did.” Now there was definite color in his cheeks. “I’ve never shouted like that before in my life. But he assured me he will not tell the Dark Lord a thing; and I suppose he hasn’t yet, because to my knowledge, she is still alive.”

“You know, I think he might actually be on your side. He’s already told Dumbledore what your mission was, way before you did. I think he really was trying to help you.” Harry watched as Draco’s saggy shoulders rose and fell.

“It really doesn’t make any difference. I don’t care about him anymore. I don’t care about – “ he stopped, but Harry could hear the word _anything_ floating in the air around them as good as if he had said it. He raised a shaky hand to run in his silvery hair.

“I’m sorry, Malfoy. I wish I knew sooner. I wish I could do something to help.” Harry could hardly even look at him now; the pain on his face was excruciating for him to watch. He moved his glance instead to the sliver of white arm showing, his eyes narrowing when he glimpsed a white line on the pale skin. But then Draco spoke and he lost focus.

“There was nothing for you to do, even if you did know. It was all over way before it even began. I was a fool for thinking I could ever escape having to make that choice; a fool for thinking there was a way to save her. To save me.” His eyes were so harsh.

Harry opened his mouth to say something, then shut it again with a sigh. What could he possibly say to him? No words could ever do. Draco’s hand shook a little on his knee, and again he stared at it to avoid the grey eyes. Once more he thought he can see something peculiar. Without giving it much thought he grabbed the arm, bringing it to him. Ignoring the stunned gasp, he pulled the sleeve up.

“What the – “ he started, enraged. Long, silvery-white scars ran from the elbow down to the wrist. Draco tried to tug his arm back, but Harry didn’t let him. His face must have shown the absolute shock he was feeling. “Malfoy, what the hell is this supposed to mean?”

Finally Draco succeeded, pulling the sleeve back down and intently avoiding Harry’s eyes. “It’s nothing,” he said softly, but like hell it was.

“Did you do that to yourself? Malfoy, _did you try to kill yourself_?”

Now he could no longer ignore him; the grey eyes shot up to him. “No, I didn’t try to kill myself. I think I would have known to slice through the arteries, not around them.” His voice was icy. Harry knitted his eyebrows.

“Then what the hell were you trying to pull? Hurt yourself on purpose to draw my attention?”

Draco’s eyes widened, and for a second his face showed so much pain, Harry was actually ashamed of himself. “It wasn’t like that,” he insisted, and Harry believed him.

Much softer, he asked, “Then what was it like?”

“I – “ he started, glance falling back to his knees. He shook his head, for a moment unable to speak. “I knew I lost her for good, and there was nothing more I could do. I thought I’d lost you forever. And everything was – it was…” his eyes sparkled with tears, and Harry found that his heart wasn’t even beating at all, the silence was so intense. “The pain was just so overwhelming. I couldn’t feel anything, just this cold, dark… numbness. I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t even think anymore. I didn’t know if – I wasn’t able to – I had to do this, to see if I’m even still alive.” He bowed his head, tears falling softly onto his lap, and Harry could not take a single second more. He all but jumped at him, wrapping him so tightly in his arms, the blond was probably not breathing. He squeezed Draco’s head to his chest, his own tears falling on the fair hair, completely lost. Draco’s pain was so huge it just engulfed them both, drowning them in, and Harry could not even remember himself anymore in it. He could just hold on to the boy as close as possible, as tight as he was able to, and wait for Draco to stop shaking in his arms.

What could he say to him, after that? After not only seeing but actually feeling this black hole that surrounded Draco? After understanding the intensity of the pain he was under? Could he even be mad at him, could he blame him for anything? Harry’s thoughts raced in his mind so fast, it was hard to untangle a single one from the mass. Draco did all this to try to save his mother from being murdered; how could Harry blame him for that? And then – he changed his mind. He chose Harry. For he could understand what that meant now, he could understand what a huge, unbelievable sacrifice that must have been for him. And to think that he actually did it – to think that he would put himself through that – it was more than Harry could take.

He gently released the boy from his arms, sliding to kneel on the floor between his legs. Draco looked down at him, face wet with tears, scrunched up in question. “I’m sorry,” Harry said in his softest voice possible. “I am so, so sorry you had to do this. I am so sorry I wasn’t there for you when you needed me most. Draco, I am so sorry.”

Perhaps it was the honesty in his voice, or the warmth in his expression; maybe the use of his given name again. In any case, when he closed his mouth, the boy was reduced into a sobbing pile of blond, and Harry collected him in his arms best he could and just let him break completely apart. He would think more about this later; he would examine within himself if there was still resentment, where his trust now stood. But there was no question whatsoever about his heart; he was still deeply, maddeningly in love with Draco Malfoy. And there was nothing, nothing he wouldn’t do to try and ease his pain. Nothing he wouldn’t do to be there for him right now, now when he needed him most. He pressed a soft kiss to the top of his head and tightened his grasp.

Draco was shaking so violently in his arms, it was hard to keep him up. Harry tried to hold him still, and when that became too difficult he dragged him over to the bed the room still provided, laying him carefully on it and holding him as close as he could. Draco turned so his back was to Harry’s chest, and Harry squeezed one arm underneath him and one above, meeting on his abdomen. He pressed his lips into Draco’s neck, kissing him softly and whispering nonsense into the sensitive skin.

At some point Draco’s body stopped shaking and he turned to him, eyes still full of tears. Harry swallowed heavily; it felt far more intimate than anything they have done together, anything he has done with anyone, ever. But that wasn’t his main concern right now - there was Draco, so close to him, and he needed him. He needed Harry. Nothing could stop him right now, nothing in the world.

“I meant what I said,” Draco whispered, the edge of his nose almost touching Harry’s. “At the owlery. I meant it. I am yours, Harry. If you want me.”

Harry couldn’t possibly speak over the huge lump in his throat. He gave a broken little laugh and sent a hand to Draco’s face, stroking gently. He had nothing to say in return anyway; no words made sense anymore, no words were important. He wrapped his arms around Draco and pulled him closer still, resting his face against Harry’s chest. It was weirdly comfortable to lay like this, weighed down a little by his body, softly caressing his hair. They stayed like this for a long time, hours possibly, until he could think of a retort.

He tried to get Draco’s attention, but the deep and slow breaths on top of his chest told him he was already asleep.


	24. Chapter 24

He woke up early on Sunday morning in the Room of Requirement, feeling very odd. On the one hand, there was Draco, his warm body on top of his, after such long weeks of intense and contrasting feelings for him. He couldn’t tell exactly how he was feeling about it, now: excited, perhaps, and more than a little bit scared. On the other hand memories of last night consumed him, and he was mortified to think how Draco feels right now, and to know there’s nothing he can do to help him. He lay with Draco in his arms for a long while in the morning before he realized the boy was awake.

“Did you sleep at all?” He asked, startling him a little. Draco turned his head to him, and Harry could sense the waves of sadness radiating from him. His eyes were red from crying. He sniffled a little before he could answer.

“Some,” he answered simply, sniffling again. He buried his face in Harry’s chest, maybe so he won’t have to look at him. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, and Harry shook his head.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about, Malfoy.” he could feel the body tensing on top of him, and knew immediately what was wrong. “ _Draco_.” There was a definite exhale of relief.

“I don’t know what to do with myself,” the blond confessed, and Harry pulled him closer. “I don’t know how to make this right.”

“I don’t know either,” Harry said honestly, squeezing him a little tighter. “I guess you just try and do what you can against Voldemort, you know? Make it worth something, somehow.” Draco nodded, but it was a very stiff nod. Harry sighed. “I’d understand if you take it back, Draco. If you decide that you don’t want to join me or whatever, what we spoke of back then. You don’t have to do it.”

He detached his head from Harry’s body and stared at him, stung. “Do you not want me to? Because you don’t trust me?”

“No! that’s not what I meant!” Harry was utterly miserable to see the pain in his eyes. “I just meant that – I know it must hurt so bad. I just didn’t want you to think that you owed it to me or something after all this. I wanted you to know you are free to do as you like.”

Draco shook his head disbelievingly. “I will never be free, Harry. Until he kills me, or until I die, I will always have to carry this burden.” He took in a deep breath. “There is no turning back for me anymore. After what I’ve done to her…” his voice broke and he paused, unable to continue.

“You didn’t do anything,” Harry protested, taking both of Draco’s hands in his. “You were forced into this position. This is not your fault. Do you understand me?”

Draco didn’t answer immediately. Instead he gave Harry a long, searching look. “Do you trust me, then?” he asked in a tiny voice, still a little shaky. Harry had to think about that. He let out a long sigh.

“I don’t know, Draco. I thought I did. I know what you had to do and I realize how much courage it took, and how much you sacrificed. but it still doesn’t erase everything that’s happened. I just need some time, okay?”

The grey eyes shifted away from him. It seemed like Draco was steeling himself. “When I thought I had lost you,” he started, and Harry’s heart stiffened inside him, “it was…” failing to find the right words, he swallowed. “I don’t think I could go through that again. If you’re not able to forgive me – if you don’t want me around – please tell me now. I wouldn’t be able to lose you once more, not like that. I just can’t.”

Harry sent a hand forward and turned Draco’s head towards him with two fingers at his chin. He wanted to make himself very, very clear. “I don’t know how easy it will be for me to completely forgive you, but I promise you won’t lose me again. Not like that, ever. Just don’t – go around with Voldemort behind my back anymore, all right?”

Draco nodded, and gave Harry a very sad smile. “Never.”

“Then we should be good.” He leaned forward and kissed Draco very softly on the lips. The blond rested his head on Harry’s chest again, heaving a little with pain, and Harry held him close and wished more than anything that there was something he could do. they stayed in bed for hours, way past midday, deep into the afternoon.

Harry’s stomach became more and more uncomfortable with its emptiness, but he said nothing. His arm underneath the boy was completely numb, but he said nothing. His heart was going to explode with sadness, still he said nothing. He was more tired and more desperate than he had ever been, although the body pressed against his gave him some consolation. He could only hope that his was doing the same for Draco.

At some point his belly made a really loud growl, which was practically booming in the silent room. Draco raised his head and looked at him with something resembling a smile. “You’re hungry,” he said, and his voice was almost normal.

“No,” Harry denied quickly, even though there really was no point. His stomach made that inexcusable growl again, and he turned a little pink.

“Harry…”

“All right, maybe a little.” He tried to smile, and was relieved to find out he could still move his mouth in that manner.

“I think we’ve already missed lunch,” Draco mumbled and got up to a sitting position. Harry tried to move, but the numb arm was giving him serious fire-ants sensations of pins and needles, and he had to be very careful. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have any food in my room. Do you think you could wait until dinner?”

“Oh, there’s no reason for that,” Harry replied easily. “We can just go to the kitchens and grab ourselves something. just to hold us till then.” His stomach made that awful sound again, and he wanted to bury himself in the covers and never emerge again. But then Draco laughed, actually laughed, and the sound made his heart soar. He looked at him with slight trepidation.

“Let’s go, then.” The Slytherin said, getting up and skipping a little on his toes. He had that reckless, giddy look Harry knew to associate with oncoming disaster. “Come on, let’s go.” 

They were still both wearing the same clothes from yesterday, and Harry was desperate for a shower, but he said nothing as he got out of bed and followed the skittish blond. They got to the kitchens without meeting too many people, as most of the students were outside, enjoying the first sunny Sunday of the year. The house elves were as happy as always to receive them, and maybe a little relieved that Hermione wasn’t around, trying to get them to fight for their rights. Harry watched Draco very closely as the elves brought more and more platters of food. Draco ate close to nothing, and when he finally did it was only because of the crestfallen looks he’d received from the house elves around. Then Harry’s attention was wholly grabbed when something launched at him and he fell to the ground.

“It’s Harry Potter, sir!” the squeaky voice exclaimed, and Harry laughed as he untangled the little body from his and got both of them on their feet.

“Hi, Dobby,” he said while rubbing the sore bone in his hip on which he fell. “It’s good to see you.”

“It is very good to see you, Harry Potter sir! did you come to visit Dobby?”

“Yeah, that too,” Harry smiled, slightly ashamed at himself for not thinking about him. “And also we missed lunch, so we came to get some food.”

“We? Is Mr. Weasley and Ms. Granger here too?” Dobby peered around excitedly, expecting to see them, but then his ears dropped and his eyes widened even further when he saw who accompanied Harry. “Mr. – Mr. Draco, sir,” he said in a tiny voice, and there was fear in the green eyes as they met the Slytherin. Draco raised his head slowly, and it was clear he was having a hard time focusing on the little figure.

“Dobby?” he said suddenly, shaking his head in disbelief. “What – what are you doing here?”

“Dobby is working in Hogwarts school now, sir,” Dobby replied weakly, and his hands were running over his ears. It seemed like he felt highly uncomfortable to meet his old master. Draco’s eyes were full of regret.

“Well, it is good to see you after all this time. I hope you’re happier here than you were at the Manor.” Draco shrugged his shoulders apologetically, and Dobby looked at him, obviously confused.

“Th-thank you, Mr. Draco, sir,” he said a little shakily, and then returned his gaze to Harry. “Is Harry Potter – friends with Mr. Draco now?”

“Yes, Dobby,” Harry said softly, sitting down next to Draco, who still looked rather shocked. “We are friends now.”

“But – but Harry Potter must know – “ his voice became panicked, hysterical, and he was shaking rather bad – “Mr. Draco is a bad wizard, sir! He is a bad, bad wizard that does dark magic – he is no friend of Harry Potter’s, he can’t be – “ and in an instant he ran, head first, straight into the wall, bouncing off it with a cry of pain. Harry jumped immediately, but Draco was nearer; he sprang to his feet and grabbed the elf by both shoulders.

“Please stop that, Dobby,” he said in a stern voice, and the elf ceased immediately. “You are quite right, of course. I really was a bad wizard, and you are correct to warn Harry about me. I was – pretty terrible towards you, Dobby, and I truly am sorry for that.” He looked the elf in the eyes the entire time.

Dobby nodded, still a little shakily, and his eyes seemed endlessly large. “Mr. Draco is grown a lot, sir.”

“Yes, some,” Draco said with a tiny smile. Harry’s heart contracted painfully.

“Please- Mr. Draco, sir – do not tell Mr. Malfoy where Dobby is. If he knows, he will punish Dobby. But Dobby will never, ever work for dark wizards again! Dobby made a promise.” his chest swelled with pride, and Harry couldn’t help but give him a bright smile.

“I will not tell him. We are not really in contact at the moment.”

“You are not? But – why is Mr. Draco not in contact with Mr. Malfoy?” he seemed confused again. “Mrs. Malfoy will be worried, if they is not speaking?”

At the mention of his mother, something seemed to break inside Draco; a light that glimmered momentarily in his eyes died. Harry had to reply, since it didn’t seem like the blond will be able to. “We don’t actually know where Draco’s mum is right now, Dobby. Or his dad, either. They are – er, they are both with dark wizards, and we don’t really know how to get to them.”

“Harry Potter does not know where Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy is?” Dobby turned his eyes from Harry to Draco, as the latter shook his head. He seemed defeated again, like a monster truck just ran him over and left him flattened in the mud. “But – but Dobby can tell you where to find them, Harry Potter, sir.”

“What?” Harry turned to him so quickly, he got whiplash. Rubbing his sore neck he stared at the tiny elf. “Dobby, how would you know where they are?”

“Dobby is still connected to his old masters,” he explained in a little voice. “Not bound anymore, but – but Dobby can still access their connection and tell you where they is, if Harry Potter wanted.”

“Would they know you’re doing it?” Harry asked, too many ideas rushing through his mind. “Would they be able to sense that?”

“I don’t think so, Harry Potter, sir. Dobby can see where they are without Mr. Malfoy noticing. He can take you there, too.”

“You can?” Draco asked, sounding like he’s pulling himself from a faraway place. “But how?”

“Elf magic,” Harry answered, raising his eyes to meet the grey. He didn’t really know how to say everything that’s been zooming inside him, and he hoped the boy can understand telepathically somehow. “Draco, he can find your mother.”

“But – what will we do if he found her?” he asked quickly in an undertone. “Say I am able to get to her – how do I get her out?”

Harry shook his head. “We’ll need to think of something, formulate a plan. We’d have the element of surprise, since they’d never think we can learn their location.”

“That’s insane,” Draco said, but something returned to shine in him. “We couldn’t possibly pull something like that off.”

“Dobby, do you think you could spy on them?” Harry wondered. “Only if you remain absolutely safe, though. Without anyone seeing you.”

“Dobby can, Harry Potter sir,” he said bravely, but Harry saw him shivering a little. He didn’t know what to do, but Draco again beat him to it.

“No, Harry. Dobby, you don’t need to do it. Going near my father is bad enough, but the company he keeps is even worse. I don’t want you to take that risk.”

“It is not difficult, Mr. Draco,” Dobby shook his head. “Dobby can stay unseen. Dobby would be proud to help Harry Potter and – and his friend.” He gave Draco an apprehensive look, and Draco stared at him, amazed.

“Harry, you can’t let him – it isn’t safe, there’s no way – “

“Are you sure you can remain undetected, Dobby? Are you sure you won’t be spotted?”

“Yes, Harry Potter, Dobby is sure. Dark wizards don’t pay much attention to us house elves, anyway.” He was regaining his confidence back, and was practically smiling at Harry now. “If Harry Potter needs Dobby to do it, Dobby would be very-very happy to help.”

“All right then,” Harry smiled back. “But be extremely careful, Dobby. And if anything happens or there’s any sign of danger, you come right back here. Okay? We just want you to gather some information. Who are they with, how many people, and if you can find any ins and outs of wherever they are. Just have a quick look and come right back.”

The elf nodded unhesitatingly. “Dobby will do that, Harry Potter. Goodbye, sir. Goodbye, Mr. Draco sir.” and with a final bow he left with a great _crack_.

***

To say that Draco seemed cheered up would not be exactly honest. It looked more like he was pulled back from the depth of the ocean, spat out a bucketful of seawater, and the light of life was reignited in his previously dead eyes. He took very shallow, very quick breaths, panting even as they marched up the stairs. There was a bit of a feverish, hectic look to his face that made Harry grow increasingly worried. He preferred it, of course, to the languid and broken Draco from yesterday; still, it wasn’t altogether reassuring to see him this way.

“We’d have to be quick,” he said in an undertone as he nearly skipped from step to step. “We don’t have much time; they would find out soon enough I failed my test.”

“Do you think we should try and talk to Snape? If he really was trying to help you all this time?” Harry watched with concern as the slightly-ill-looking color in Draco’s cheeks deepened.

“No, I should think not. If he _is_ trying to help me, he won’t let me even consider it. This is a stupid, Gryffindor type of mission; I highly doubt he will approve.”

“Well, we can’t go to Dumbledore, either. He already said he can’t do anything for her now, and I don’t think he’d be too happy about us going ourselves.” He pulled into an immediate stop so as to not crash into the blond, who paused in the middle of a skip and turned to look at him, wide-eyed.

“What are you talking about, Harry?”

He was way more than just baffled. “I’m talking about going there and getting your mum out, of course.”

The grey eyes never seemed larger. “Yes, but… you said going there _ourselves_.” Harry gave him a defiant ‘and?’ type of look, and his shoulders actually sagged with exasperation. “Harry, you can’t possibly go anywhere near her!”

Now he was even more confused. “What do you mean, Draco? I thought that’s what we were talking about?”

“Yes, for _me_ to go there. You can’t just hop on and march towards a Death-Eater-laden place and say, ‘excuse me, mind if I just pop by?’ being the number one wanted person there!” he shook his head in a stunned manner. “the Dark Lord himself could be there! There is absolutely no chance you can go!”

“Draco, I – what were you thinking will happen, then? You kept saying _us_ , too!”

The blond hair shook so quickly, it was blurry. “I need your help, since Dobby really only trusts you – but I never meant for you to come with me. I could never let you do that.”

“Well I’m not going to let you go on your own!”

The motion stopped and Draco’s eyes tore through him like silver arrows. “Harry, you can’t. you can’t risk yourself like that. Please, you must listen to reason. It’s not safe for you.”

“And you can risk yourself? It will be safe for you?” Harry didn’t even bother to try and hide the anger in his tone. He crossed his arms, frowning. Around them things might have been happening, people may have been walking; nothing existed except the pale face in front of him.

“My safety doesn’t matter! I am a dead man anyway, Harry! But you can’t just go there and let them bloody have you, too!” he seemed too disturbed to continue. Harry glared at him.

“I’m not going to let you go there alone. No fucking way, Draco. I’ll tell Dobby not to take you; he’d listen to me.”

The pleading in the grey eyes was painful. “Harry, please, you can’t do this to me. I’ve already sacrificed everything in order to keep you safe. If they get you – then I’ve been putting myself through living hell for so long, for nothing.” He closed his eyes, and Harry actually gasped with relief, not having to see the emotion running in them. “Please, you’re not thinking straight. I’m begging you to reconsider.”

“No,” he panted, although it felt a little cruel. Under no circumstances would he let Draco go face Death Eaters on his own. Under no circumstances would he leave him defenseless like that. “I’m sorry, but you’re not going there alone. It’s either with me, or not at all.”

“Will you really do that to me? Force me to make that choice again, you or my mother?” Draco bent his head, taking a few deep breaths. He looked unbalanced, like he might fall any second. Harry found he had absolutely nothing to answer him with. Thankfully he continued. “We don’t even know what Dobby will find. We don’t know if there’s anything we could actually do.”

“So we wait,” Harry shrugged, feeling his chest pulsing painfully. “We wait to see what he can tell us, and then we decide.”

There was a miniature nod, but it was enough. He grabbed Draco’s hand and marched him up to the Room of Requirement, although the deserted castle seemed to pose no imminent threats. He will get Ron and Hermione too to voice their opinions; he was beyond certain they would support him. Sending Draco alone to wherever the Death Eaters were hiding was ridiculous; and although he knew he doesn’t really add too much to the cause, it felt a whole lot safer if he were there.

He wasn’t exactly rushing towards the prospect of meeting dark wizards. His heart was nearly frozen with hollow fear as he sat on the sofa. But seeing the pain in the grey eyes was enough to ensure he will not stay behind. He will not just sit here and do nothing when there was a chance to save Draco’s mum. A chance to bring back that light into his eyes that will otherwise be gone forever. A chance to make this right, all the pain and suffering Draco had to go through this year. And then a small, ungentle thought rocked him, and he could nearly not bring himself to ask.

“Draco,” he said eventually, because keeping his thoughts to himself was really not something he had learnt how to do, “All the things you told me - the summer with Greyback, Voldemort torturing you… Was it – did it all – “ and he stopped, feeling abashed and hopelessly red in the face. He had to know, but the process of finding out terrified him. He didn’t know what he will do with the information, too.

The Slytherin looked at him for the first time since they’ve entered the room. He gave him an exhausted sort of look, one that filled Harry with sorrow and apprehension. “It all really happened, Harry. I didn’t make any of it up.”

“It did? But why? I mean, if he just wanted to give you the task of killing me…” he paused when he saw the effect his words had on the blond. Draco shook hard and his eyes darted to the floor.

“It was never killing you, Harry. He would not give that task to anyone; it is one he saves for himself. I do not know if he always planned on giving me the mission of luring you to him, if it had all been a part of his plan, or he only came up with it in the end of summer to further torture me. In any case I don’t think he believed I would have much success.”

“You could have had,” Harry admitted softly, looking at his cringing hands in his lap. “If you really tried, Draco, you could have had me fooled.”

“No,” Draco answered, glancing at him nervously. “I never could have really done it. And you never would have let me.”

“I don’t know. I trusted you, Draco. I fell for you. You could have used that – you could have made me love you, then take me right to him. I would have gone anywhere with you. Not because of him or of his plan, but because of you. Who you are.”

Draco gave a sad little snort. “You only fell for me because you saw me as a victim. Just as he intended. You thought I needed your help, and that made you open up to me. You wouldn’t give me a second glance if I wasn’t in so much pain back then.”

“That’s not true,” Harry replied indignantly. Damn everyone and their obsession with him and his helping people thing. “It was maybe the reason I was drawn to you, but not the reason I developed those feelings. I fell for you because of who you really were, not because of the lies. Even after I found everything out – even when I was so furious with you I couldn’t breathe – still I loved you. And it fucking hurt me so much, I would really appreciate it if you didn’t treat it so lightly.”

Draco’s eyes were full of tears. “You love me?”

Harry took a deep breath. He thought long and hard before speaking, searching within himself. he did not want to lie to him. He could not bear to lie to him. “Yes. Of course I do. I love you.” Wasn’t it obvious? Didn’t he just volunteer to go into a den full of people who wanted to kill him, for his sake? Didn’t he just spend the last day almost dying over the other boy’s pain? It was so plain, he should have known all along. Of course he loved him. Of course.

Draco remained very, very still. “If you really – love me – would you do something for me?”

Harry gasped. “Anything, Draco. I thought you know that.”

“Then don’t bloody die.” There was no twinkle in his eyes, no smile on his face. He looked somber and austere. “Please don’t come with me. Please. I’m begging you. Do not do this to me.”

“Draco…” he was saved from having to come up with something to say, because the door opened and Ron and Hermione burst through, having finally received his note.

It took some time for him to fill them in on all the details. Draco remained silent as he spoke, and the other two made the occasional remark of shock or disdain. At last he was finished and looked at them all, draped as they were in silence. Hermione sat with her chin in her hands, looking thoughtfully into the fire. Ron’s eyes were fixed on Draco, who refused to look at any of them and kept his glance on the rug. Harry ran his hands nervously through his hair, waiting for someone to say something.

“What do you think, Malfoy?” Ron asked after a long moment, surprising everyone. Draco finally raised his head and met his glance a little shakily.

“I want to go there as soon as Dobby returns. Just the two of us. No one else.” He sounded sad, yet determined.

“You can’t do it alone, Malfoy. it’s unreasonable to send you to a known lair of dark wizards on your own. That could not work.” Harry wanted to kiss Ron at that moment. He had never loved him quite this much.

“I can’t ask anyone to risk their lives for me. And I can’t have Harry dying over this. It’s not like he can just walk there looking like Harry bloody Potter without raising suspicion. If I go I can say I – came for more instructions, or to ask a question. I don’t know. I’ll find something.”

“Malfoy,” Hermione started, then paused with a pensive look. “No, you’re right. He can’t walk in there looking like Harry Potter.”

“Hermione!” Harry yelped, indignant, but she gave him a little smile that he knew well enough. It was her ‘I-have-a-plan’ smile. There was hardly an expression in the world he preferred. “What did you have in mind?”

“The Polyjuice potion we made for Potions class! We could steal some of it. we’d go under the cloak first, of course. You can take the potion so you don’t look like yourself!”

“It’s still too dangerous,” Draco interjected, but no one seemed to be paying attention.

“Whose appearance will he take on?” Ron asked, intrigued. Hermione bit her lower lip.

“I don’t suppose he could take on Malfoy’s – if one of them remains under the cloak at all times, that shouldn’t draw too much suspicion. And if we have to separate, it would be useful to have another Malfoy look-alike with us.”

“And what about you two?” Harry asked, a little concerned. “You can’t really show your faces there any more than I can.”

“None of you should be there,” Draco exclaimed, and once again went ignored.

“Maybe we could take some hairs from other Slytherin kids – Zabini and Parkinson or Crabbe or something. we can say we went with Draco to help him. I’m sure they won’t hurt their own children.”

“Have you ever met Death Eaters before?” Draco asked with a clear air of despair, but still no one listened.

“How do we get the potion from Snape? He will never let any of us have it. It’s only Draco he likes, and he wouldn’t give it to him on account of being worried he will do… exactly what we plan on doing,” Harry flushed only a little. “Hermione, do you think you could distract him long enough for me to steal the flasks from his office?”

“Sure,” she said without batting an eyelash. Draco grunted with annoyance.

“It shouldn’t be too hard to get hairs off of unsuspecting people – not that I have too much practice with that,” Ron smiled, and Harry mirrored his smile back. The three of them were actually getting to their feet when a yell from Draco made them pause immediately.

“Will anyone bloody _listen_ to me?” he was a little stunned at finally having their attention. “We don’t even know if Dobby will be able to take us. We know nothing at the moment. I know it is the Gryffindor way to just jump into a higgledy-piggledy plan head-first without worrying about the consequences. But can we just wait to hear something back before we land in a place swarming with Death Eaters who would not hesitate to kill us all?”

He sounded so aggravated, Harry had the decency to look embarrassed. “Look, Draco, we’re not going to do anything before he gets back. We just want to be prepared.”

“Prepared to be slaughtered,” Draco reminded in a cold tone. “Harry, I – I really don’t know how else to say this. _I betrayed you_ , remember? Weasley, you’ve never even liked me. Granger, I’ve been nothing but nasty to you. _Why_ are you doing this? Why risk your life trying to help my mother? Do you not see what’s at stake here, do you not see the danger?”

“We understand, Malfoy,” Hermione replied quickly, giving him a very cautious look. “We know how dangerous this would be.”

“But it’s still the right thing to do,” Rom completed her, and received a dazzling smile from her in return. “Malfoy, we wouldn’t let you do this thing on your own. This is a life we’re talking about here. And it’s not true, what you’ve said. I mean sure, I’ve not liked you for a long time, I made a proper career out of it. But the last few months I’ve – not hated you as much. I’ve come to regard you as… an acquaintance.” It was practically an admission of love coming from Ron. Harry saw his ears becoming pink. He was so touched he went to him and placed a hand on his shoulders. Ron gave him a nervous little look, and Harry remembered the little boy on the train all these years ago. In all the time he had known him, Ron never ceased to amaze him with his heart. Draco seemed more stunned than touched.

Hermione checked her watch. “Look, we should get all the ingredients here, so we’re ready either way. Malfoy, you should stay here and wait to see if Dobby comes back. Ron, you go to the Great Hall and see which Slytherin kid’s hairs you can steal. Harry, we’d go down to the dungeons to see Snape. Meet back here in a half an hour?” everyone agreed, Draco rather reluctantly, and they set off. Harry felt the adrenaline rushing through his veins. He was – well, not _happy_ , for this was going to be a daunting and terrible task that held so much at stake. But still, it was good to be doing something. he was so sick and tired of sitting helplessly and waiting. Now they were taking action, rebelling against Voldemort himself, and not only that but they were going to help Draco. He nearly ran down the steps with the other two, trying not to look too gleeful.


	25. Chapter 25

It was way too easy to get the potion. So easy, in fact, it made Harry’s stomach squirm with misgivings. So easy it felt wrong. Snape never even looked behind him as Hermione went on and on about the potion they made last week. It left the ground clear for Harry to steal into his office, covered by the cloak, and get a small cauldron full of the familiar Polyjuice potion. He was out before Hermione had even finished asking her question. Waiting in the hallway for her, still invisible, Harry chewed his lip so hard he tasted blood.

“Do you think we’re being stupid?” he asked as soon as she arrived, a little flushed at his side. She gave him a quizzical look.

“About what in particular?”

“This whole thing. Going out there and trying to get Narcissa. Do you think there’s even a chance we could make it?”

Hermione’s eyebrow flew upwards. “This doesn’t sound very much like you, Harry. You were never the defeatist.”

“No, I know. It’s just… he was right, you know. He did betray me. I hardly even got over it, and now I’m already hopping down the rabbit hole looking for more troubles for him? It’s just… am I being stupid?” he looked so serious, she actually smiled as they began their ascent up the stony staircase.

“I think it’s pretty simple, really. There’s only one question you need to ask yourself.” He gave her an expecting look, but she took her time before continuing. “Do you love him enough to take this risk?”

He thought back to the chat he had with Draco in the Room of Requirement all these months ago, the test he told him Gryffindors use to see how much they care about a person. _Would he try and rescue him from the frozen grip of death_? There wasn’t really any question at all about it.

“Of course I do,” he said.

She shrugged. “Then I don’t think you are being stupid, no. At least, no more than usual. Harry, if we can save her, that would be the best thing in the world. If we can’t – well, at least we’ll know we tried. And with the potion we should be safe enough, as long as Dobby is there to help us get back.”

He thought about it as they continued the long way up. If Dobby really could get them in and out without any problems, they really should be fine. After all they have the cloak, and they will not look like themselves. It will be a fairly simple procedure; determine her location, extraction, return in one piece. Easy peasy.

At long last, panting a little, they reached the seventh floor. They found a very surly Draco in there, pacing the room and looking incredible restless. They didn’t have to wait long for Ron, who returned shortly afterwards with the hairs of Goyle and Parkinson. Draco did not look at all pleased about that.

“You are all fools if you think their faces can protect you,” was all he said, before resuming his pacing. The Gryffindors gave each other dark looks, but they said nothing in reply. It was very quiet for some long minutes, and Harry was beginning to lose heart.

Then a large _boom_ nearly made him jump out of his skin. Dobby had returned, looking around him with pleased tennis-ball eyes and straightening his ears excitedly. “Harry Potter, Sir! Dobby found her! Dobby found Mrs. Malfoy!”

He gave a shrill cry of delight seeing Ron and Hermione, and hurried to shake their hands. After a fuzzy moment Harry grabbed him by the shoulders and brought him to the sofa. Draco quit his pacing and stopped to look at him in earnest.

“So, Dobby? Tell us everything. Where is she? How many people are there? How easy is it to get there?”

The house elf looked directly at Harry now. “Mrs. Malfoy is in a castle in Ireland. There are a few dark wizards there – very, very dark wizards,” his eyes narrowed and he shook his head. “Dobby counted five of them, but more come and go. The Dark Lord was not there when Dobby checked.”

Harry expelled a sigh of relief. “Did you see who was with her?”

“Mrs. Malfoy has a room on the north side of the castle. She was there alone when Dobby saw. Mr. Malfoy is there too, but not in her room.” He gave Draco a sheepish look. “Mrs. Malfoy looked very sad, Draco Sir. Very-very sad.” The grey eyes seemed torn with pain. Harry found he couldn’t look at the blond, so he focused on the house elf.

“Did you see if there’s a way for us to get in, Dobby? And out?”

“Dobby can take you into the castle,” he nodded with a little apprehension. “there is a drawing room in the north wing Dobby can apparate to. If Harry Potter can take Mrs. Malfoy out of her room and bring her there, Dobby can get them back here to Hogwarts.”

Harry looked at Ron and Hermione. “Sounds like a simple plan, no? Go in, grab her at her room, go back out. In and out before anyone notices.”

Draco shook his head. “No. Harry. You are – no.”

He spun to face him, despite the nervous tightening in his gut. “What, Draco? What else do you suggest?”

It seemed like an effort for him to speak. “You don’t have to do this. You don’t have to go. I will not think any less of you – in fact, I will be grateful. Let me do this by myself – I’m begging you.” His eyes glimmered with an emotion so strong, Harry nearly fell off his feet.

“Draco, I am not backing out. I am doing this with you. I have to, I care about you too much.”

“Please,” Draco said in a constricted voice. “Please. Let me go on my own.”

“No. if I am not going, Dobby is not going to take you. Come on, you have to admit, it’s a solid plan, even for a Gryffindor.” Draco did not take the bait. Instead his face filled with intense, boiling rage.

“How can you do this to me, Harry? How can you make me choose between your life and my mother’s again? Have I not suffered through this decision enough? Has it not torn me completely apart until not even a shred of me remained?” he was so furious, he was shaking. “You seem to think you are doing this to save me still. Well, it is too late. Having to make this decision already _killed_ me. I am a dead man, Potter, whether you choose to accept it or not. The months I’ve spent totally humiliating myself – throwing myself at your feet – torturing myself in every possible way – they will all go to waste if you die. Everything I had gone through, all the pain I’ve suffered, it was all in the end for your sake. How dare you throw all that away and say it is for me? How _dare_ you?”

Harry was stunned into silence. “Draco…” he started, but was cut off immediately.

“ _Don’t._ you had me begging you, Potter. _Begging._ God damn you, I don’t beg. I hardly even ask. And you’ve watched me all this time, debasing myself, tearing myself up at your pleasure, wrecking myself into mush so you could bloody come and save me. And it fucking worked, all right? You had saved me. I was so moved I saw the light or whatever piece of shit you want to hear. And I realized how nothing, nothing in the world could be more important than you, you surviving, you defeating the Dark Lord, you and your bloody Golden Heart. Don’t you understand? When I sacrificed my mother for you – when I bloody decided I had to _let her die_ so you could live – I didn’t just seal her fate. I sealed mine with hers. _I killed myself_ so you’d live. And this is how you repay me? This? Jumping into danger head first with the audacity to tell me it is for my benefit? You don’t love me, Potter. You wouldn’t do this if you did. You wouldn’t have let me die in vain.”

With this, Draco seemed to have exhausted himself. he fell to the ground, hugging his knees, head leaning on them so his fine hair covered his face. Harry stood there for a second, breathless, horrified. Ron and Hermione were so quiet, they may have stopped breathing too. Then he lowered himself to kneel at his side, looking at him tenderly.

“Draco,” he said, a little hesitantly but gaining confidence with every second. “Draco, look at me, please.” The blond wouldn’t listen. Harry sighed and put a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry, but there’s one thing I disagree with. Please, would you look at me for a second?”

Very reluctantly, Draco raised his head. “What?” he snarled.

“Just that… you’re not dead yet, Draco. And you don’t have to be. I know it must have been an unbelievable nightmare for you, and I’m not saying I know how to fix what’s happened to you. But it doesn’t have to be a choice between my life and hers anymore. You can have both. Draco…” Harry drew a deep, shaky breath. “You are not dead, so you can’t have died in vain. You’ve been through some terrible, terrible things, some of them because of me, some of them for my benefit. I never meant to hurt you. Look, you don’t have to make this decision again. I am making it for you this time. I am going, whether you’re coming or not. You can join me if you will and we’ll try and get her together. or you can stay here if you’d rather. I’m not just doing it for you, Draco. I’m doing it for me. I have to try this, even though it may not work. I have to try.”

“Are you serious, Harry? You will go no matter what I say? Do you really care so little for me that there is nothing I can do to convince you to stay?” Draco sounded so desperate, he was on the verge of tears. Harry stroked his arm lightly.

“No, Draco, I’m sorry. I’m going. If you want to come with me or not… that’s the only decision you have to make now.”

The blond gave him the dirtiest look he’d ever received. “Like I’d ever let you go there without me.”

“So we’re agreed,” Harry tried to smile, then got back to his feet. He offered a hand to the other boy, pleading him with a look. It felt like a very loaded gesture, like if he will not accept his hand now, something will be forever broken between them. He waited for a few seconds, not even daring to breathe. Draco bit his lip and just looked at him. In the end, though, he took the hand and let Harry pull him up.

“We are very much _not_ agreed,” Draco said eventually. “I will not quarrel with you anymore, for I see it will be useless, but know this one thing. If anything happens to you – to any of you – I will never forgive you, Harry. Never.”

He nodded with a very heavy heart. “Understood.” There was a long silence.

“We should get going if we want to make this in time,” Hermione stepped in. “We have to be pretty quick about this. We need to get the potions ready – “

“I’ll do it, I’ve already got the vials,” Draco said surprisingly and took the cauldron that sat on the table. He fussed about it for a few minutes, while the other three were speaking of their plan.

“We had better only take them in the very last second, so we’re not wasting any time. Remember the potion will only give us about an hour. Now, about the cloak. I’m sorry, Harry, I just don’t think it’s big enough to cover the five of us.”

“How about the three of you and Dobby?” Draco asked, finally having returned. He handed each of them a vial of a different colored potion. Harry’s was pure silver, like Draco’s eyes in the moonlight. It was by far the most pleasant looking one – Ron’s one was puke colored, and Hermione’s a horrid pink. He looked at Draco with a measuring look.

“I suppose that should fit, but…” he sucked in his lip. Draco shook his head.

“They’re going to have to see me, anyway. We can’t be opening doors invisibly, that will raise questions. If I’m there, that will explain the noises and the movement.”

Hermione nodded, but Ron seemed hesitant. “Are you not worried they will try to – I don’t know, do something to you?”

Draco didn’t even look at him. “I am not worried about anything that will happen to _me_.”

Harry looked at his watch. “All right, Dobby. Do you think you could take us there now?”

“Dobby will go first to make sure the room is empty,” the house elf squeaked. He bowed towards their general direction and disappeared with a loud ‘poof’.

“This looks much tastier than last time,” Harry said as lightly as he could, raising the molten-silver potion. Draco did not seem amused.

“Harry, you can’t just – looking like me will not mean being safe from harm,” he said tersely. “You have to remain under the cloak at all times. If we meet my father – “ but he paused, too horrified to continue. Harry grimaced.

“We will take it one step at a time, Draco. No reason to freak out before we’re even in there.”

“No reason to – “ Draco repeated, outraged, but his words were swallowed by another loud boom. Dobby was back.

“All clear, Harry Potter sir. Dobby can take you to Mrs. Malfoy now.”

***

The first thought Harry had of the drawing room was how cold it was. A freezing wind blew from the open window, making him shiver slightly, sandwiched though he was between Ron and Hermione. The second was the sheer size of the room; it was almost as large as the entrance hall in Hogwarts. The sizeable brick fireplace was surrounded by many battered-looking sofas that have clearly seen better days. The bare stone walls stood very grim with some tapestries dotted about, so old they were entirely colorless. The whole place gave Harry a weird feeling of old, elemental magic. He wished the fireplace was lit, for it was really very cold in there. Through the open window he could see the sea in the dying light.

The moment they arrived Draco took his hand off of Harry’s and stepped away from them, looking around nervously. It was very evident he was anxious. “Her room is up the stairs, the first door on the right,” the house elf said as he stepped from under the cloak. “It is better if Dobby waits for you here, draw less magical attention.”

Draco nodded stiffly. “Keep out of sight, Dobby.” Then he turned to the invisible three. “Keep the cloak on at all times, no matter what we see. Be absolutely quiet. If I am attacked – “

“You’re not going to get attacked – “ Harry tried, but Draco pretended not to hear him.

“ _If_ I am attacked, you are to do absolutely nothing. Get back to Dobby as quickly as you can and leave. Am I clear enough? If not, we are leaving at this very instant.”

Everyone was very quiet for a second. Then Harry sighed. “All right, Draco. Whatever you say. now can we please go?”

“Promise me,” Draco gritted his teeth. Harry gave a quick anxious look to his right and left. Ron and Hermione seemed as hesitant as he was. He wondered what to do. “Harry, promise me right now. I am not letting you go any further if you won’t promise.”

He let out a shuddery breath. “Fine. I promise.”

They walked out in the direction Dobby gave them in silence. The castle seemed very old, older than Hogwarts even, and extremely dark. The light of the rapidly-fading sunset came through high slits of windows, and the torches held in brackets on the walls were unlit. There were no decorations like at the school – no portraits or statues or suits of armor to break the blandness of the stone. The carpet at their feet was musty and covered by a heavy layer of dust. When they reached the staircase, Harry looked down. He could see that parts of the walls were missing in the floor they were on, and even more so on the ones below them. More than a castle, it was a ruin. Fairly well kept, but still a ruin. There was a bleak, very unhomely feeling about it.

The dusty carpet kept their footsteps quiet, and they reached the next landing without meeting anybody. A long corridor of bare stone stretched in front of them, gloomy and empty. Harry had a very bad feeling in his stomach. They reached the first door.

“Wait here,” Draco breathed as he put his hand on the handle. He took a deep breath before pushing it open, then stepped inside. Harry waited, all his muscles tense, his gut rumbling uneasily. He stretched his ears trying to listen in, but there was no sound. Absolute silence. After a minute he could take it no longer and elbowed Ron and Hermione gently. They came in after the blond and closed the door behind them.

The room had no windows and it took Harry’s eyes a second to get used to the low light cast by a single candle. The first thing he could see was the silvery-blond hair of the boy standing in the middle of the room, cradling his arm. Harry could not discern his expression. There was a bed, neatly made, and a small desk adorned with golden candlesticks and eagle-feather quills. There was no Narcissa there, though. Harry noticed Draco was breathing rather harshly.

“She’s not here,” he whispered and came out of the cloak. He went to touch Draco’s shoulder. “She’s not here.”

“No, I’d say she’s not,” he replied. It took a moment until he turned around to face him. “What are you doing, Harry? Get back under, now.”

“What happened to you?” Harry asked, pointing at a long scratch on his forearm, red with blood. Draco shrugged.

“I scraped the wall.” He seemed like he couldn’t care less. Harry bit back an impatient response and simply stared at him.

“We need to go and find her,” Ron said as he suddenly materialized besides them. “It won’t do to wait around here till someone comes.”

“Are you mad?” Draco’s eyes went between Harry and Ron quickly. “Both of you go under the cloak, now. I will go and look for her. You’ll remain here.”

“You’re being ridiculous,” Harry began exasperatedly, but Hermione cut him off.

“Malfoy, we should split up. Harry would look like you – one of us should go with him, and one of us will go with you. We could cover more ground like that. We really should be as quick as we can, before this place fills with Death Eaters.”

He was about to argue, but Ron was quicker. “I’ll go with Malfoy. Hermione, you go with Harry, and you both wear the cloak. We should meet back at the drawing room in forty minutes – we won’t have much time of the potion remaining after that.”

“No – you guys should take the cloak – “

“Absolutely not – “

“None of us should wear it,” Harry cut in before they waste too much time. “It won’t do to have doors opening without anyone there to open them, like Draco said. Listen, guys, take the potion now. Hermione and I will go to the right, you to go to the left. No matter what happens, we are meeting at the drawing room in forty, okay?”

The others nodded, Draco obviously unwilling. As the three of them raised their vials to drink, he neared Harry.

“If you run into my father – “ he whispered to him as Harry went through the unpleasant experience of having his skin melted off and reforming in a different shape tightly on his bones, “you have to be very careful. Tell him Snape gave you permission to come, and immediately find an excuse to leave. If you remain too long with him he’s bound to figure out you are not me. Harry – “ he paused when the transformation ended, and he was now staring at his own face. The real one twisted with discomfort. “You have to remember your Occlumency. He will certainly try to invade your mind. And just – be extra cautious, all right? I don’t know what he will do when he sees you. Me. If you cannot evade him, take Granger, apparate to Dobby and leave.” Harry nodded distractedly and tried to give him a reassuring smile. It was weird to have to use a different face than his own.

“We’ll be fine. All right, Hermio – argh!” he recoiled in revulsion when instead of his best friend he stared right at Pansy Parkinson. “I mean, Pansy… let’s go.” He stashed the cloak underneath his robes.

The four of them stood at the door. Ron, looking like Goyle, opened it and peeped outside into the hall. “It’s empty. All right, we should get going. See you soon.” Harry watched him and Draco going back down the staircase and disappear from view. Hermione gave him an anxious smile.

“They’ll be fine, Harry. Come on, let’s go.” She took off towards the next door and pulled out her wand. “Humanus revelium,” she whispered and spun it in a neat circle. A flash of white light came out of it. “No one here,” she shrugged, and placed herself at the next one. Harry sighed as room after room proved empty. at the very last door of the corridor, he began to feel antsy. He watched as Hermione performed the spell, and a flash of blue light emitted from her wand. At first he didn’t even notice it was different – he was already walking back the way when she tugged at his sleeve. “There’s someone here, Harry.” He raised his glance to look at her.

“We go in and out as quickly as possible,” he murmured to her as he took hold of the handle. “Ready?” they walked in together.

There was a merry fire blazing in a stony fireplace, sending flickering light around the expansive room. It was decorated heavily with a thick, shiny tapestry that was splattered with gemstones and seemed both extremely expensive and tacky. It wasn’t beautiful; the tapestry was so dirty, the gems were dull. Armchairs and sofas were spread in front of the fire, old looking and a little torn in places, so heavily coated in dust it was hard to say what color they were. On one of them, close to the fire, sat a figure. When the door opened it turned towards them, giving them a look of surprise.

“Draco? What are you doing here?” Harry’s breath went right out of his chest with a bang. Rushing to her feet in front of him, looking highly confused, was Bellatrix Lestrange.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boy, have I got news for you: we are getting to hear Draco's POV too! the poor thing deserves it, wouldn't you say? different perspectives are separated by asterisks. Hope this doesn't get too confusing, as this chapter and the next are a bit of a comedy of errors of sorts. Less heavy on the comedy part.

Draco was furious. So furious, in fact, he didn’t even feel scared. Those stupid, stupid Gryffindors with their stupid, stupid plans. Of course she wouldn’t be there. why would she be? Why would anything they could ever attempt work? This was just typical. Draco knew it, he knew all along; hadn’t he told them? Hadn’t he warned them? But then he just went on ahead with their idiotic, half-baked plan. Months spent in their company and still he didn’t understand them, still was powerless against their antics. He should have known better. Damn it, he did know better. The biggest fool of them all, he chided himself, hands clenching on his sides. The very worst.

Their footsteps were muffled by a thick layer of dust on the carpet, but were still booming in the otherwise silent castle. Draco looked through the gaping holes in the stones, at the dim twilight it admitted. He was chilled to his very bones. There was an unnerving, ethereal feeling to the structure that went past the feeling of old, old magic. It was so much darker than Hogwarts, than the Manor. It breathed and sizzled ominously, as Draco _knew_ it would be, and he never should have come.

Weasley overtook him on the stairs as he let his mind wander, and Draco snapped back to reality. He could not let himself be carried away – there were bloody lives on the line here. He needs to be present, and he needs to be careful. He peered at Weasley. Although he looked exactly like Goyle, there was no mistaking for a second he wasn’t walking alongside the real thing. There was a light of intelligence in his eyes that didn’t exist in the original pair. Draco stopped him with a hand on his arm when they got to the floor below.

“You need to try and act more like him,” he whispered urgently to the giant boy. “Try walking less stiffly. Think as if – as if you’ve never had a proper thought in your life, and your biggest fear is cursive.” Ron smirked at him through Goyle’s ugly face.

“Gotcha.”

Scowling, Draco nodded and they walked beyond the drawing room. Draco wasn’t aware he was holding his breath until he had to release it in order to cast the spell. Holding his wand at the next door along, he was using the same incantation as Granger was a landing above them, though he couldn’t have known that. Weasley looked at him with surprise.

“No one in there,” he said as he was already trying the next door, and to the same effect. It seemed like most of the castle was uninhabited, at least for now. Draco was grateful for that, of course, but also a little worried. Shouldn’t the Death Eaters be here, hiding together? Where had they all gone out to? And for what sinister reason?

A yelp from the boy next to him woke him out of his reverie. “What? What is it?”

“Nothing – I must have cut myself over something – “ Weasley put his finger in his mouth, and Draco saw a bead of blood disappear. He groaned with exasperation.

“Just try not to get too much in the way, if you’re so bent on not doing anything helpful.” He knew he was being unkind, but was far too stressed to try and control his tongue. Weasley didn’t seem to mind.

“That’s a useful spell,” he said a little quizzically, pointing at Draco’s wand that revealed another room to be empty. Draco took a moment to stare at him.

“Whatever do you mean?”

“Nothing. Just that… you’re quite handy with these spells.”

Draco sighed. He closed his eyes and prayed all the Gods to give him strength. “Spit it out, Weasley.”

“Spit what out?” he gave him a sheepish look and scratched his head in the best impression of Goyle he has done yet.

“Whatever it is you want to say. Just say it already, please, because we really don’t have the bloody time.” He was beyond seething, and it took all it had in him not to shout in rage. He had spent the better part of the school year playing the bloody victim in front of Harry and his friends, placing himself at their mercy, being helpless around them. Humiliating and ruining himself repeatedly, rubbing himself so deep in the mud until he could no longer see himself. And if that wasn’t bad enough, now here they were, risking their stupid lives for his mother’s sake… Draco could not bear having such a debt to them all. He simply couldn’t, not in this state, not with what’s left of him. 

“It’s just that… you know, this is very dangerous, and I just… I don’t know. I don’t want you to die thinking I hated you.” Draco found he had absolutely no response to that. His mouth actually gaped open. Here he was detesting the very cells of his body where Weasley was… what? _Caring about him_? This was unacceptable. And so… Merlin. So Gryffindor of him.

“Bloody hell, Weasley, enough with the gushing already. We’ve got to be quick so I don’t have to die at all.” He didn’t say what he was really thinking; that if they were to stay here much longer, _he_ won’t be the one to die tonight. He may be hurt, ripped apart, brought to the very edge – but not die, not so soon. He was not worthy of that, as his father would probably remind him. he would be killed eventually, of course, but that could not be helped. No – tonight, that honor will be kept for Harry. He shuddered again as he tried the next door along. His wand flashed blue.

“Someone’s in there,” Weasley whispered, and he nodded. He swallowed hard.

“Keep quiet and let me do all the talking. If anyone asks, you are here to accompany me. If we are separated – Gods, Weasley, _listen_ to me – “ the boy shut his mouth back up, looking sullen – “ _if_ we are separated, go back to the drawing room and wait for the others. If you don’t do anything suspicious, they will have no reason to hurt you. Understood?”

Weasley gave him a hard look. It was so strange to see this expression on Goyle’s face, he had chills running down his spine. “Will you quit trying to sacrifice yourself here, Malfoy?”

“I’m not trying to sacrifice myself,” he said with the utmost levity he could muster. “Just to save your silly damn necks, that is all.” Weasley grew quiet at last, but Draco wasn’t sure he really comprehended. How could he not? Draco had known these people all his life. He grew up around them, visited their homes, broke bread with them. The stupid Gryffindors would do nothing but get themselves killed before completing their first sentence; but this was his world. He belonged here. Or well… he used to belong here, once. Now he didn’t quite belong anywhere.

Something in his chest contracted and it hurt, but Draco didn’t have the time to think about it now. Sure, changing the allegiance he held his entire life caused a very serious rift in the very fabric of his soul; what of it now? He had other things to worry about. So what if his father would disown him? if he would throw Draco in the Manor’s dungeons, never to resurface again? and what difference did it make that as soon as the Dark Lord catches up to him, Draco could only wish he’d be dead? It was all secondary. There was a real-life threat right here, right now, and Draco he better bloody focus.

He closed his eyes and tried to control his breath. That was a bit of a mistake; as soon as he did the image of Harry jumped before his eyes and Draco could barely hold in the whimper. Harry, who took him back. Harry who perhaps did not forgive him, but was willing to do this with him, for him. Harry who broke his heart to pieces so small they could never be found again… and now Harry was here, in this very castle where there are people who want to hurt him, and Draco was doing absolutely nothing about it _. Going very well_ , the cold voice in his head said, the one that sounded suspiciously like his father’s. _Wonderful performance_. _Now you will get him in trouble and then you’d have to kill yourself in earnest._

Draco fought to shut the voice up, but his defenses were feeble at best. _I’m on Harry’s side now_ , he told it, but the voice only laughed. Is he really, on Harry’s side? Certainly he can no longer be on the opposite – not merely because they would kill him – but would he really be welcomed on Harry’s side? They would always treat him with mistrust, they would always hate him. He would always just be Malfoy to them, when he wasn’t so much of a Malfoy anymore, barely a Draco. Even Harry himself hadn’t really forgiven him, not that he expected him to: Draco would not have forgiven such betrayal, such cowardice. He did not forgive himself it, for that matter. Harry was right; he was not to be trusted. But then – but then – Draco’s breath hitched and he squeezed his eyes tighter. Enough. Enough. He had to concentrate.

He fought himself every step of the way for months. He tore himself up from within, stripped piece after piece of his soul until almost none of it remained. Now there was nothing else to do but bloody fight. Now, finally, enough was enough. He was here, and he could not let himself fail, for this was the very last chance. He took the biggest breath of his life and opened his eyes.

“Ready?” he asked. Weasley gave a quick nod, and Draco pushed the door open. He took a step in, and an instant panic filled his insides with daggers. It was a small room, a study of some sort maybe, and at the heavy desk against the wall sat a man he could recognize in a heartbeat. He had his back to them scrabbling something furiously, head bent to the yellow parchment. Draco knew it was too late; the man’s shoulders tensed, and he was obviously aware of their presence. This was bad. He was in half a mind to tell Weasley to run for it, but there was no way to speak without being heard. He froze on the spot, knowing he cannot run, but wishing with all his heart he could. Instead he cleared his throat and rose to his full height, holding out his arm so Weasley doesn’t come in after him. “Hello, Father.”

***

Harry tried hard to calm his racing heart. The image of the woman in front of him, the same one that haunted him for nearly a year, unsteadied him so that he could merely gape. Lestrange reached them and gave him a puzzled look. “Draco? What is the meaning of this? What is wrong?”

He blinked a few times fast. “Nothing, Aunt Bellatrix.” He felt frazzled to the point of being completely lost. Harry wondered dazedly if his face was showing the total shock he was in.

Now that she came up close he really could do nothing but stare. The year since they last met did her very little good. Her hair was tame now, weaved in a long braid that reached the small of her back. She wore blood-red lipstick and her heavy-lidded eyes were covered in green eyeshadow. Still it did not make her look any less insane or ghostly. Azkaban left its permanent mark on her, same as it had on Sirius. The silk robes she wore looked expensive, in accordance with her surroundings, but clean.

“What are you doing here, Draco? and who is she?’” her bony finger pointed at Hermione.

“I’m here because – er – I’ve come to see Mother,” was all he could bring himself to say. Lestrange’s eyebrow fired up to her hairline.

“You’ve come to see – but surely that can’t be it, Draco? and bringing strangers in, too?” she sounded somewhere between perplexed and enraged. Hermione gave a little squeak.

“No, no, of course not. I’ve actually – er – “ he tried hard to think of what Draco said all those long hours ago at the Room of Requirement. “I’ve come for more instructions for my, er, task.” He looked sideways at Hermione, whose face showed total alarm. A little too late he straightened himself in his best attempt at what Draco may have stood like.

“Draco!” Lestrange exclaimed, her anger becoming clearer. “You need to be careful how you speak in front of outsiders –“

“She is not an outsider,” Harry hastened to remark as Hermione seemed to shrink considerably. “Aunt Bellatrix, this is Pansy Parkinson. She is…” he racked his brains, but came up empty. he gave the girl a pleading look.

“I’m Draco’s girlfriend,” she said in a tiny voice, and pulled herself up. “I’m – very sympathetic towards Draco’s goal. My father told me all about it and I – well – I wanted to help.”

Harry let his shoulders drop with relief. He felt numb, completely out of it. Seeing the face he used to dream of killing for so long didn’t have the effect that he expected on him. He thought he will be feeling furious, that he will have to forcefully stop himself from tearing her from limb to limb with his bare hands. Instead he felt… dizzy. Very, very dizzy. He tried blinking a few more times.

“Parkinson, you said? Hmm. I have met your father, of course. I wasn’t aware he had been informed of Draco’s task.”

Hermione nodded anxiously. “Yes, he – he thought I might be able to help. Since I go to school with Potter too, and I can… assist Draco with approaching him.” She was doing a marvelous job, Harry thought out of the fog of his confusion.

“I see. Well… if it was instructions that you wanted, Draco, you had better go find Lucius. It is my understanding that he was put in charge of your little task since his return.”

Harry’s mouth was very dry. Hermione had to step on his foot to spring him into action. “My father, you say? not Vo – not the Dark Lord?”

“The Dark Lord?” Bellatrix repeated, stunned. “You wish to speak to Him?”

“No,” Harry started, nearly leaping up in horror. “No, no, of course not. I meant – weren’t you, er, sort of in charge?”

She relaxed a smidgen. “Yes, well, since your father’s release from prison… since he obviously knows you best…” she seemed to resent this fact, but Harry couldn’t much bring himself to care for her emotions. He was doing his best to keep his own at bay. He had a feeling that once this cold, fuzzy shock would blow over, he would be in some serious trouble.

“We should get going, then,” Hermione said a little shrilly, tugging Harry’s sleeve. “Let’s go find your father, Draco. He could tell us more.”

“Yes, we should.” Harry turned to leave, when a thought crossed his frozen mind. “Do you know where my mother is, by the way?”

Bellatrix raised a sharp eyebrow. “You know very well you can’t see her, Draco.”

“I just thought… you know, to say hello.” His voice weakened. Hermione shut her eyes in horror.

“Let me take you to your father,” the woman said with a strange expression. “I’m sure he will explain it all to you. Or perhaps you’d like me to call another friend of mine to really make you understand…” Harry knew immediately who she meant. And to think that she would do that to Draco – threaten her own nephew with that terrible monster – brought him dangerously close to his senses.

“No need, _Aunt_ ,” he said as sharply as he could, and rearranged Draco’s features into the cold smile he wore so well. “I will find Father on my own, thank you.”

“Nonsense, Draco. we are family, after all. It may have been a surprise, but still a great opportunity to spend some time together.” She smiled menacingly, and Harry could feel the old hatred bubbling inside him, stirring his soul back from its stunned, frozen state. This was bad. This was very, very bad. One look at Hermione showed him what he already knew; they had absolutely no choice. So he followed the woman out of the room and into the deserted hallway, mind reeling.

She walked briskly, clearly knowing her way around the place. Harry struggled to keep up with her long steps, feeling rather than seeing Hermione beside him. They were nearly running, he realized with some trepidation. Why was she in such a rush? And where, exactly, were they going?

Harry thought for a second about meeting Lucius. He had no idea what he could possibly say to him. Draco said to make some excuse and leave – but what? He was fairly certain Bellatrix would not make the matter any simpler. He yearned to speak to Hermione about it, but there was no chance of doing that without raising some suspicion from Lestrange. He tried to catch her eyes, but the girl wasn’t looking at him at all. Instead she was looking around her, taking notes of the castle around them, of possible means of escape. Harry had to admire her practical mind, even at a time like this. He wished he was more relaxed so he could think straight. Right now his thoughts seemed to float around his head in disarray, not making a lick of sense to him.

He noticed they were back on the floor from which they arrived, walking past the closed door to the drawing room where Dobby was hopefully still hidden. Harry wondered if he will be able to apparate without Draco, like he so foolishly promised to do if compromised. He wasn’t certain he could actually go through with it.

Lestrange took them to a door further down the hall and paused outside it. She turned to them. “Your father is in there, Draco. Now if you just – “ but then she paused, her eyes narrowing. Harry quickly turned around to see what she was looking at. Standing at the hallway behind them, looking awfully ghostly in the torchlight, in an uncharacteristically stained white dress, stood Narcissa Malfoy. 

***

The man didn’t turn at once; he added a few words to the letter he was writing, then rested the quill down. Draco pushed at Weasley’s chest, forcing him backwards and wishing he would get the hint. _Get out_ , he shouted in his mind towards him as loudly as he could, but to no avail. The stupid boy just stood there and gave him a determined look, blocking the pathway until Draco had no choice but to let him in and the door closed after him. Doesn’t he understand the situation here? they could not fool his father, not him. He meant what he had said to Harry; Draco didn’t have the slightest idea how his father would react to seeing his son. Would he be happy to see Draco? Be angry with him, perhaps? Congratulate him on his apparent success? Reprimand him for not accomplishing any achievements yet? There was no way of telling with the man. Draco watched his shoulders move, and that thing which contracted inside him before made a pathetic little wriggle. He tried to breathe it away.

How long since he had seen his father last? On his trial, before he was sent to Azkaban. Back then Draco had been the proud, graceful son of an old and noble family; he looked down at him with eyes that wouldn’t cry, but something in him broke then already. Seeing his father – his strong, all-powerful father – taken away was a blow on its own, but there was more to it than that. With Lucius gone, Draco was left on his own… and experience taught him he was, and will never be, enough.

There were too many feelings in his chest as his father got on his feet and turned to face them. Somewhere in him there was still the boy who loved him fully, unconditionally. The boy who admired him and was ever so proud of him. the boy who knew that everything he did was for his own good, that it came from a place of honor and respect and even love. but then there was also the boy that was hurt… his shame and confusion, always disappointing, never good enough… fear, definite fear, gut-wrenching and all-consuming… Draco swallowed hard. This was it now. This was it.

“Boy,” was all his father said, and a rush of cold hatred ran through Draco like a bolt of lightning. For a year they had not seen each other, and this is what he has to say to him? This was all?

“Father,” he replied in the same distant manner. He could feel Weasley’s discomfort from behind.

“Why have you come, boy?” he asked. Draco gave him a long look. The time his father spent in prison seemed to have taken its toll on him. His eyes looked huge in their sunken sockets, his skin was yellow and waxy-looking. He was very thin and the bones protruded from his pointy face. There was a time Draco thought of his father as handsome – no more. They did not look alike anymore, either. The light that used to shine in the grey eyes – the light of the living – was extinguished. Draco narrowed his own eyes at the wreck of the man and lifted his head even higher. For a wild second he wondered if perhaps it would be less terrible to disappoint _this_ man, rather than the man he used to know.

The cold glint in the grey eyes assured him it would not. “Snape finally caved in and told me where you were. I wanted to see you, Father. You and Mother.”

“How touching,” Lucius answered coldly, and Draco nearly shivered. “And you brought your little bodyguard, too.”

“I didn’t know who else might be here,” Draco said, keeping his voice even. He searched the face in front of him to see if the man knew of whom he spoke. It seemed like he did.

“Of course. I’ve heard of your troubles with Greyback over the summer.” If Draco expected an apology for how miserable his life has become because of his father, he would have been disappointed. But of course he did not expect such foolish things. He _knew_ Lucius.

“Where is she, Father?” he asked. He realized his hand was clenched to a fist around his wand. He made no effort to try and hide it.

“She is here, as you know very well. You also know you should not have come. That was very, very foolish of you.”

Of course he had known that, had thought it himself only minutes ago, but still it stung to hear it in such a detached tone. Draco sucked in his lip to try and prevent himself from commenting. He tried not to think of the time when he looked up to Lucius, when he would have done anything to please him. “I want to see her.”

“We all want many things, Draco. _I_ want a son who listens to me and does as I tell him. The Dark Lord wants a loyal follower who completes his tasks. We are not getting what we want, so why should you?” he made a step towards him, and it took considerable effort not to flinch away. Lucius placed a hand on his shoulder, and Draco found he could hardly bring himself to look in his eyes. “You made a mistake coming here tonight.”

“You cannot stop me from seeing her,” he said with all the conviction he could manage. He knew, naturally, his father was well able to stop him. But still it felt like the right sort of thing to say right now. He had forgotten all about Weasley – about Granger and Harry still searching somewhere in the castle. Only his father stood in front of him now, only he existed. He hated him as much as he feared him. He feared him as much as he loved him. he was full to the brim with nausea.

Lucius was practically the same height as Draco, but it still felt like he could tower over him. Something flashed in his grey eyes, cold and hard like steel. “I can do whatever I want to you, Draco,” he said softly, and now the boy couldn’t help but shiver. Damn him and his weakness. Damn his father and his hateful threats. He shook his head.

“Not anymore. You can do nothing to me.” That wasn’t exactly a lie. Sure, there were many things Lucius could do to him, if he so chooses. But since Draco was unofficially already dead, was there really much he could _actually_ do?

“Perhaps you have forgotten, boy. Perhaps the time I spent away from my family has made you complacent. Do you need a reminder?” Lucius raised one fair eyebrow in an expression Draco has learned to copy. It was beyond bizarre seeing it on the older man now, after he himself wore it so many times.

“I remember everything,” Draco’s knees felt rather weak, but he held his ground. “I am not scared of you, Father. Tell me where she is.”

Did Lucius just _snigger_ at him? That was a rather odd reaction. Draco’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “You have grown quite a bit, I see, my boy. Well. Our Lord has done fine work with you, after all.” He clapped stunned Draco on the shoulder once, then took a step back and gave him an appraising look. “You are very thin, Draco. thin and weak looking. You have to resume your strength if you plan to overtake Harry Potter any time soon.”

For a moment Draco found himself speechless. This was not going in the direction he expected. Instead of making this a teachable moment, his father gives him a compliment? Before insulting him, naturally, as was his way. what exactly was happening here? he had troubles bringing himself back to the room around him. “I am not going to take Potter by force, Father, as you already know.”

“No, not that, are you? My son has taken the road less traveled, I heard. Playing the little victim, making him pity you – that is not the Malfoy way, you know. You have brought great shame on the Malfoy house with the little plan you and Snape concocted. I have barely been able to look anyone in the eye since I’ve heard of it.”

“I brought shame on the Malfoy house?” Draco couldn’t help but sneer. Usually he would cower in a combination of shame and fear before him, but not now, not because of this. “It seems like the _Malfoy way_ did not really work out for you, Father, whereas my way is still going according to plan. The Dark Lord is pleased with me. Tell me, was he pleased with you after the summer?”

He wasn’t exactly surprised, but still he gasped when the hand found his cheek and the slap turned his face red. “You are out of order, boy. You will not speak to me in this manner.”

Movement behind him – damn it, he totally forgot Weasley was still there. Taking a step back to thwart Ron’s advancement, he rubbed his warm cheek softly. “You left for a long time, Father. Perhaps it is you who needs a reminder of what is going on around here.”

“I did not leave, you know where I have been. And if all is going according to plan, why have you come then? You did not think you deserve a reward for a plan halfway-through?” Lucius’s anger was cold and distant. Draco hated that more than anything in the world. Well, more than almost anything.

He knew he had to be careful. All the while they were talking his father bore into his mind, and Draco had to be sure he is only giving out things that were safe enough to display. He sighed. “I have not seen you since you’ve been out, Father. I needed to discuss the plan with you. There are some – details that require your attention.”

“I see.” Draco could constantly feel the slippery, cold tendrils drilling into his mind. “Have you made a mistake, Draco? Messed your little scheme up?”

“No,” he hurried to say, “nothing like that. Just some technical details I thought you should be aware of. Not to do with me.”

“Well then, in that case we should – “ some noises from the hallway outside distracted them all momentarily. Lucius quirked an eyebrow with suspicion. “What is this, Draco? did you bring any more of your friends?”

“No,” Draco answered breathlessly. His father didn’t seem to believe him.

“Interesting. Very interesting indeed.” He took a second simply staring into his son’s eyes. They had nearly the same color – the older man’s were slightly bluer tinged, and the boy’s more silver. Draco did not quiver against his stare. Without a word his father passed behind him and Ron and went to open the door.


	27. Chapter 27

Narcissa’s face was practically all eyes. She was so pale, and in the fading light she looked alarmingly ghost-like. Her expression was entirely blank, and it gave her a haunted sort of look, slightly deranged. It didn’t help that exactly at that instant the torches all lit up and cast a golden wave on her figure, illuminating the stains on her dress. Red stains. Harry didn’t blame Hermione for squeaking.

Narcissa stumbled and caused a little bit of a racket, pulling the torch bracket next to her to the ground where it clanged metallically. “What are you doing, Cissy? You should be in your room!” Bellatrix hissed, extinguishing the torch, and Harry was suddenly reminded of her presence. The appearance of Draco’s mother – so, so far worse off than he had last seen her in the forest all those months ago – made him forget everything else.

“Draco,” she whispered, taking a step towards them as if in a dream. “My son.”

“You shouldn’t be here,” Bellatrix said a little more urgently. She looked around them at the empty corridor. “Quickly, in there.” She grabbed the blond lady by the arm and marched her off to the next door further down the hall. Harry and Hermione hastened to follow. It was another bedroom, although the bed in it was in no state to sleep in – the bedding was all torn and ragged. The bed posts were heavily scratched, and the desk at the far wall had a deep gash through its center. There was a very strong smell inside which Harry distinctly did not like. It reminded him of something, but he had no idea of what. Bellatrix closed the door behind them as soon as they came in, giving everyone stern looks of disapproval.

“My son,” Narcissa said again, and she sent her hand out to Harry beseechingly. His heart squished painfully as he took her dainty hand in his, squeezing it. She was freezing cold.

“Cissy! You know you are not meant to be here. you’re not allowed to see Draco, our Lord forbade it!”

“He’s my son, Bella!” the woman snapped, finally letting her silvery eyes leave Harry’s face. Fire danced in them now, and Harry could breathe again. She looked so defeated before, so broken, he thought they might have been too late. But now he could see she still possessed some of her force. “You cannot keep him away from me. I must speak to him. I must.”

“Perhaps just a few minutes,” Hermione piped up from his elbow. The bedroom was small and they all stood pretty close together. He was basically touching all the women.

“No,” Bellatrix said harshly. “You are not allowed. You know I will not hesitate to punish you.”

Such an upsurge of hatred pulsed through Harry’s veins, for a second he could not see past the blood-red in his eyes. “How dare you threaten your own sister?” he breathed, hardly able to utter the words from his shaking lips. “Have you no heart? None at all?”

That seemed to grab her attention. Bellatrix gave him a long, snarling look. “Will you speak this way to Fenrir if he were here, Draco? I remember how you were during the summer. You didn’t have quite the nerve back then.”

“I’ve grown,” he muttered, turning his face to her hated one. “I’m not afraid of him, and I’m not afraid of you. Go and get him if you want. I _will_ have a moment with my mother.”

For a second she just looked at him, assessing. Then she gave a loud groan. “You have two minutes, Cissy. Any longer than that and I shall get Greyback here.” now she grabbed Hermione by the shoulder and nearly dragged her out of the room. As soon as she closed the door, Narcissa fell into Harry’s arms.

“Draco – why have you come here, what are you doing– you must get back now, my love, before it is too late. _He_ is here.” Harry wondered for a second if she means her husband or Voldemort. He pried her gently off of him and looked her deep in the eyes.

“I am not Draco, Mrs. Malfoy,” he breathed.

Narcissa stared at him for a millisecond. Then she leaned into him and whispered, “Where is he? Where is my son?”

“He is here in the castle,” Harry whispered back. He went to the door and pressed his ear; from the other side of it he thought he could hear Hermione and Bellatrix speaking. He expelled a long breath. “Mrs. Malfoy, we’ve come to rescue you. Draco and my friend Ron are somewhere here – your old house elf, Dobby, he brought us, and he can get us all back. We only need to get to the drawing room – “

“You’re Potter,” her eyes seemed even larger than before in the low light. He knew it wasn’t a question. He affirmed it with a nod nonetheless. “But… surely you wouldn’t…” shock rendered her speechless. Harry felt for her, but now was really not the time.

“Mrs. Malfoy, we don’t have long. only about – “ he brushed his sleeve up and stared at his watch, “forty-five minutes before the Polyjuice potion wears off. We must all leave before that happens. And we are leaving here today with you.”

“You cannot stay here that long, Harry Potter.” Narcissa must have been so stunned, she didn’t even bother to lower her voice anymore. “You must leave now. Take the house elf and my son and go. I can distract them – “

“No, Mrs. Malfoy,” Harry had to physically stop her as she made her way to the door. “No. we are not leaving without you.”

Her thin eyebrows shot up. “Why are you doing this?” if before she seemed mad, there was no mark of it left; she seemed as sane and sharp as could be. “Why are you here?”

“For your son,” he replied urgently, boring into her eyes. “I’m here for Draco. He can’t stand losing you, Mrs. Malfoy. You have to come with us for his sake.”

Narcissa closed her eyes, seemingly in great pain. “I don’t know that it will be possible, Potter. But I will try. The most important thing is to get all you children out of here before we run into Lucius... Or worse.” At that, she opened her eyes. They were so disturbingly similar to Draco’s – the same silvery lines running deep in them. Only hers were now filled with such fierceness, it was a little hard to look at them straight on.

The door opened so suddenly, he had to suppress a startled cry. Hermione looked at him through Pansy’s face with terrified sorrow. Bellatrix just looked outraged. Harry could still feel the numb emotions stirring within him, like smoke rising from a volcanic lake. Soon, he will have to face them. Soon he will have no choice. But right now there were other things to worry about – other pressing, far more important things than his need for revenge. “You’ve had your two minutes, Cissy. Go back to your room now.” She looked around them with an evil little grin on her face. “Perhaps Miss Parkinson here can help you get there, since she seems to be so intent to assist Draco. in the meantime, my dear nephew, let me take you to your father.”

There was no way to argue with her tone; Harry saw the way she was holding her wand menacingly, and knew with more than a little resentment that he probably can’t win in a duel against her. Maybe this was good; Hermione could perhaps sneak Narcissa into the drawing room and get her out of here. he tried to communicate with the girl telepathically, and the glint in her eyes told him she may be thinking along the same lines. All the while, though, he never forgot to keep his mind closed. He felt very grateful to Draco for being so strict with their Occlumency trainings.

Hermione and Narcissa walked back up the corridor and disappeared up the steps. Bellatrix took Harry to the door behind them and knocked. Fear was cold inside his chest; on the other side was Lucius Malfoy, and he had no idea what to tell him. Nothing. His mind was worse than blank, worse than empty. it was gone. Bellatrix didn’t wait for an answer; as soon as the ladies were gone from view she opened the door with a bang and burst into the small room. It was a study, and Harry’s eyes caught immediately an open letter on the desk at the wall. He realized his heart was beating frantically only because of the absolute silence inside – no one was in there.

***

Draco’s heart literally stopped still; his breath froze in his lungs in sharp icicles. He knew the voices outside had to have been related to Harry – Harry and Granger who were out there looking like him and Pansy. The damn, damn fools.

“Father – wait – “ Lucius stopped with his hand on the handle and turned back. “There is something – something I have to tell you – about Potter – “

“Yes, Draco?” he asked coolly. Draco’s mind was racing, but he could think of nothing at all to say. this was a very rare occurrence for him, and it certainly did not happen at the right time. “Well, what is it?”

“I just – thought you should know – “ Lucius waited a moment longer, then shook his head. He opened the door, and in the split second before averting his eyes to the hallway, Draco saw actual malice in the grey. He had a thin smile on, the one Draco knew only too well, and bode nothing good. Then he looked out and saw the empty hallway.

“What is this meant to be? What made that noise?” Lucius asked, eyeing him with suspicion.

“Is this castle haunted?” Draco asked in a close imitation of his usual sarcasm. His father didn’t seem amused. He wasn’t often amused by Draco’s sense of humor.

“Was there something you wished to tell me, Draco? something to confess?”

His breath hitched helplessly. He knew he put himself in a whole lot of trouble, still he gave him an innocent look. “I misspoke, Father. I only came to discuss the plan with you. There is much about Potter I have learned and wish to relay to you, in however much time we have.”

“Right. Nothing else you wish to say? Nothing else you may have done?”

He didn’t even dare inhaling. “Nothing.”

He knew the cold anger in his father’s eyes. He knew what kind of retribution he will receive for it. at some point, be it sooner or later, he would have to face it; his father’s scorn, his fury, his punishment. Honestly, Draco did not know which one he feared more. He was worn so thin already, so very thin that he could barely even formulate a single thought; how would he be able to withstand him… despair threatened to wash him in the cold grey sea. he labored to bring himself back to shore and to the room around him.

“I see.” Lucius sucked in his lower lip pensively. “Come, Draco. there is no reason we should discuss such important things uncomfortably.” And he turned around again and left the room with his head held high.

Draco followed his father out and back into the corridor. He spotted the object that caused the noise straight away – a torch bracket was torn off its place on the wall and was now on the ground. He looked as discreetly as he could around, but saw no other signs of the other two or his mother. He felt Weasley tense beside him and knew he must be thinking the same.

His father brought them to the drawing room from which they arrived, though he probably didn’t know that. He gestured towards the sofas, and though his every instinct told him not to, Draco sat.

Lucius was very quiet. He almost seemed like he was waiting for something, and Draco knew it couldn’t be anything good. In the meantime, the Polyjuice potion was wearing off – how long do they have before Weasley’s hair will resume its ludicrous red color? Draco tried to search for Dobby in the corners of his eyes, but couldn’t see him. He could try and search for him in his mind, using that magical bond that once held them as a unit, but not with his father watching him like that. Right now, he could only hope the elf is still here and will be able to retrieve them before it’s too late.

He stared at his father uncomfortably. Lucius was so thin, nearly as thin as Draco; and in the brighter light provided by the fire he seemed even worse. Haunted, maybe. There was a darkness in his eyes Draco had never seen before. He cleared his throat. “So… how have you been, Father?”

The blond man laughed mirthlessly. “Trying at small talk now, are we? You have never been good at those, son.”

“That is untrue,” Draco said with lightness he didn’t feel. He realized he was avoiding looking directly at his father, so he forced his eyes to stare at him. “I was simply never interested in it.” All along he kept thinking hysterically of ways to get Weasley out of there, or better yet, to get out of this room so Harry and Granger could come back and bloody _leave._

“And what, if I may ask, spurred this sudden change?” the fire glimmered in his grey eyes, yet they remained quite blank. His father was always so good at detachment. 

“Perhaps the fact I have not seen you in nearly a year, Father. A lot has happened since we last met.” He hoped his tone sounded anywhere near as calm as he wished it to be. He wondered in the back of his mind who lit the fire since they arrived so recently.

“Yes, Draco. A lot, indeed. I heard all about your little… escapades. I have been keeping very closely updated with you.” Draco was seconds from shouting at him. How dare he use that accusatory tone of voice? Everything that happened to Draco this year – the summer with Greyback, the torture, the unbelievable indignities he had to endure – the tearing apart of his soul – all of that was because of Lucius. _All_ of it. and he blames him? He blames Draco? That was inexcusable. Anger took the front seat again, and as always, he was helpless.

“Have you, then? And here I was, thinking you didn’t give a rat’s arse about me in the first place.” All right, perhaps that wasn’t his best retort, but his mind was frazzled with shock. “I thought you were quite content with just letting me pay the price for your mistakes.”

Lucius drew a sharp breath, and Draco could tell by the little spots of color high in his cheeks that he was furious. That did not help alleviate his own anger. “Remember yourself, boy. You have no right to speak to me like that.”

“Don’t I? I’m sorry, I must have been mistaken. You see, it was my understanding that all of the horrible things that were forced upon me this year were a direct result of your doing. Was I wrong in thinking that, Father? Was there some other reason I was tortured and threatened to such an extent?” he knew he was pushing it, but concern for Harry made him lose his senses. The plan he came up with just now was simple, stupid maybe, but also the only one he had: he just needs to get his father angry enough, and then maybe he would be able to make him vacate this room. After all he is not going to punish Draco in a sitting room in front of others.

It took time for the tall man to answer. “You are out of your mind, Draco. It seems as though I am the one who was mistaken. I never should have let you out of my grasp for so long - I see you still sorely need my close attention.” There was that familiar flash in the grey of his eyes, and Draco almost sighed with relief. He was getting close, he could feel it.

“I was better off without you,” he spat, and felt the rush of exhilaration and fear sweep him. “I wish you would have stayed in Azkaban.”

He laughed again, a cold, hissing laughter that echoed in the large nearly-empty room. “How sweet, son. Is this the warm family welcome they speak so highly of?”

“Wouldn’t know,” Draco bit out. “I’ve never had that.”

“And I suppose you blame me for that too?”

“As a matter of fact, yes,” Draco said and closed his eyes. He could feel Weasley itching to say something to his left, and prayed with every remaining brain cell he had that the boy could keep quiet. There was too much to focus on; keeping his mind closed, trying to get his father out of here, worrying about the stupid Gryffindors, trying to hold in place the shaky foundations of his soul…

“Come with me,” he heard as if from miles away after a silence that lasted eons. “Perhaps it is time you saw your mother.”

Draco’s eyes opened with such speed he couldn’t see clearly at first. His mother. Of all the things that occupied his buzzing mind, he had forgotten completely the reason they were here. He got to his feet and hurried to send his hand out to Weasley. “Stay here, Goyle.” He could see the boy wanted to argue, so he gave him his most serious look. If Weasley could remain here, he should at least be able to escape if it came to it. He could keep an eye out for Harry and Granger returning here, too. He pleaded him with his eyes until Weasley sat back down, looking grumpy. He turned and followed his father back upstairs.

Lucius walked fast, and Draco didn’t have time to look around for signs of Harry. He didn’t have to look too far for Granger, however; as they walked upstairs he nearly crashed into her head-first. Her eyes landed on him initially, and she expelled a sigh of relief. “Ha-llo, Draco,” she caught his terrified look and quickly diverted. Draco measured her in a glance; other than a small red cut on her collar, she seemed fine. He nearly shook with relief, until he heard the cold voice at his side.

“What is this? I thought you said you brought no more of your friends, boy?” Hermione looking at him through Pansy’s face was whiter than chalk.

“You remember Pansy, Father. I did not bring her. Or at least, I did not know if she will come. Pansy is my girlfriend.”

Shock made Lucius slower in response. “Your _girlfriend_?”

“Yes,” he said, staring at her hard to see if she makes any moves to contradict him. Wisely, she remained silent.

“And what exactly is your girlfriend doing here?” Draco thought hard for something to say, and to his horror found he hasn’t got much. Thankfully, Granger wasn’t the smartest witch in their year for nothing.

“I found the note you left me, Draco. I wasn’t going to let you come here all on your own. I apparated to the location you’ve disclosed and met your aunt as I arrived, who sent me to look for your father.” Her voice was almost its normal. If Draco wasn’t so distressed, he would have been impressed with her shrewdness.

“You met – “ he could see from her eyes she was telling him the truth; they really did see Bellatrix. “and she sent… you… to find Father?”

“She said that is where you had gone,” she nodded, and Draco’s heart skipped a beat. So Harry and Granger met with Bellatrix, and she sent Harry as him to see Lucius? This was bad. They must have just missed them somehow. It was crucial that they separated her from Harry as soon as possible; she didn’t know Draco as well as his father, but still she must suspect something isn’t right. And if they see the both of them together – disaster wasn’t a big enough word to describe what would happen. Again he was furious with himself for agreeing to go with this asinine plan.

Lucius stood silent while these exchanges took place, his brows high on his forehead, his expression set. “You children do baffle me so,” was all he said. He gave Draco a long, hard look. He did his absolute best to keep his mind shut. “Follow me if you wish to see your mother.”

He resumed his walk up. Draco shot Granger a quick glance; she had no choice now but to follow them back upstairs. He tried to read more from her expression, what had they done, where had Bellatrix taken Harry, but got nothing. He thought fast: Weasley was in the drawing room, hopefully with Dobby, ready to go. Granger needs to be removed from their presence at the first chance they get. And then Harry… they had to find him. And once the three are together again, they have to disapparate immediately. If they have any luck at all, Draco could keep his father occupied until then.

He almost stopped instinctively at the landing above, but caught himself at the last second. He looked at the girl behind him again as Lucius seemed to be continuing upstairs, although they both knew his mother’s room was right there. Where was he taking them, then? Draco swore under his breath. He followed the tall man two stories up, and through a large wooden door into some sort of armory.

Draco looked around. There were swords and axes, bows and arrows and an array of nasty-looking sharp instruments that glinted in silver on the walls all around them. It was a rather large room, torch-lit and bare stone walls, only decorated by the obviously very old weaponry. A large flat rock stood in the middle, perhaps a place on which to sharpen a sword, or to pummel an enemy. Its cracks were seeped with a maroon substance which made him shudder uncontrollably. There were no windows and no door but the one from which they entered and which Lucius bewitched shut. It was a terrible place. Draco could _feel_ the blood that shone from the pointy ends of the weapons.

For a second he had to close his eyes, the feeling was so unnerving. Once again it was a mistake; the moment he did so the weapons began to speak to him, whispering in terrible hisses of the misfortune they brought countless others. He nearly covered his ears with his hands, willing the curse to pass; for he knew it was only a game his father was playing with him. Without much thinking he grabbed Granger’s hand and pressed softly. He didn’t know if she is also prey to these nightmares, or if his father is torturing him alone. He did not turn to look at her face. She pressed back.

In an alcove behind an especially evil-looking spear which glowed in green, protruding from a hog’s head, stood a man. Draco didn’t need to look at him to know his identity; the smell alone was enough. His breath short, heart freezing, Draco tightened his grip on the girl’s hand. More than anything right now, he wished she wasn’t there with him. He didn’t want her to see this.

***

Bellatrix seemed surprised to find the room empty. She must have expected Lucius to be there. Harry stared at her for a second, trying to calm his heartbeat. “Maybe he’s left?”

“No, he was here,” she said with an uncertain air, looking around the room as if searching for clues. “Why don’t you remain here, Draco, and I’ll see if I can find him elsewhere.”

“Sure,” he breathed immediately. Anything to keep her away from him. And maybe he could take this chance to walk about, see if he can find Draco and Ron anywhere. He tried to keep his face blank as she gave him one last look and left, closing the door deliberately behind her. Harry waited for a few seconds, his breath hard and cold in his throat. The look on Narcissa’s face – he couldn’t get it out of his mind. Her eyes, almost exactly like Draco’s, filled with so much pain. What did they do to her? What did they do to drain her so of energy, of life? He remembered her in the forest; distraught, yes, but still elegant, filled to the brim with dignity. The woman he saw today was… not even a shell of her old self. She was still strong – he could see it in her. When she thought of Draco, she had strength in her yet. But other than that… he shivered when he pictured her face once more. It was terrible. Awful. Again he felt that bubbling wrath inside him. Why did Lucius do this to his family? He caused them so much pain, so much trouble, and for what? A chance of some power with his stupid Voldemort? This was insane. Harry wondered again where Draco is now and what is going on with him. Obviously he didn’t find his mother, so what is he doing? Has he found anyone else? Fear for him was bitter and burning at the same time.

He decided to wait another minute before leaving as some attempt at playing it safe. More to distract himself than because he was interested in it, he went over and looked at the parchment on the desk. It was an unfinished letter, he surmised, but it took some time before he was able to bring meaning into the words he read. He was still thinking about Draco and his mother, and there was only little room in him to fit something else from the outside. A few sentences in, however, he was absolutely immersed.

This wasn’t good. Bloody hell, this was really, really not good. He took a few calming breathes and thought hard. What to do? what could he do? He read the letter again quickly, wishing his mind would run faster. They had to get out of here, now. It was imperative that they were gone before Bellatrix has the chance to speak to Lucius. Harry shoved the letter in his pocket, so unsettled that he managed to give himself a papercut. A single drop of his blood fell and absorbed into the dusty rug.

He tore out of the room, disorganized thoughts spinning in his mind and making him dizzy. They have to leave. There was no time for precautions – he went to the drawing room, thinking it would be best to take Dobby with him and maybe covered by the cloak they could find the others. He burst inside, nearly falling on the slightly-burnt rug, when he realized there was someone already in the room. It took his confused mind some time to remember it wasn’t in fact Goyle sitting on the sofa.

“What is it, Malfoy?” he asked in his deep voice, getting to his feet. “How did you shake him so fast?”

“What? No, Ron – it’s me, it’s Harry – “

“Oh,” the boy said in a very Goyle-like expression, his mouth a perfect circle.

“Where is he? Who is he supposed to shake off?”

“Malfoy – he’s with his dad, they went upstairs to his mum’s room to see her, they don’t know she isn’t there – “

“No,” Harry said, rubbing his eyes frantically. “She will be there – Hermione just took her. But we have to get Draco away from him – immediately, Ron.”

“He did seem a little off,” Ron said and walked towards the door. “Even more so than his usual. He kept asking Malfoy if there’s something he wants to confess – “

“He _knows_ , Ron,” Harry sighed as his eyes swept the room. “He knows Draco failed his test. He must suspect something’s going on – he probably knows way more than he should. Dobby, are you here?”

“Yes, Harry Potter sir,” a little voice said from the fireplace, which Harry noticed for the first time was lit. As the elf spoke he sort of materialized in front of them – not that he was not there before, but it was impossible to tell him apart from the faded tapestry behind his tiny figure. Even in his dazed state, Harry had to appreciate his magic.

“Good. Listen, Dobby, we have to make a quick getaway – do you think you could come with us, and we’d look for the others together? This way we could leave as soon as we find them.”

“Dobby can come, Harry Potter,” the house elf squeaked. He seemed uneasy. “But Dobby cannot apparate out of any other room in this part of the castle. It is the only room open enough for Dobby to go through.”

This was another set of bad news. “Well – maybe you should stay here then. I guess there’s no point taking you further into danger. Just stay here and stay hidden, okay? We’ll get everyone back here and ready to go in time.”

“Dobby worries something changed, Harry Potter sir,” the house elf added when Harry started walking away. “Dobby can feel it.”

“Yeah, a minute ago the fire suddenly went green,” Ron added. “Any idea what that meant, Dobby?”

“No, Mr. Weasley, Dobby does not know. But it is not good.”

“Well, no time to worry about that then, really,” Ron said cheerfully as he kept the door open for Harry, who was halfway through the room when the look in the little eyes stopped him. “You have to put on the cloak, mate! What would they say if they see you and the real Malfoy together?”

“Fair point,” he uttered as he slung the fabric over him. “Dobby, you be careful, all right? Especially if you reckon something is off. Do you need me to cast a disillusionment charm on you or something?”

“No need, Harry Potter sir. Dobby can be invisible on his own.” And with that he disappeared from view completely. Ron’s voice shook Harry back into action.

“Come on, let’s go!”

They hurried up the steps towards where Ron said Draco went, and as they neared Narcissa’s room they could hear voices – people talking. They exchanged a quick look. Harry could see in Goyle’s tiny eyes a shred of the concern Ron must have been feeling, and for a second he could almost see the familiar blue. His heart was beating fast and his knees were weak with worry, but he nodded as reassuringly as he could. Harry let Ron who was visible open the door and rushed in right after him, ready to break Lucius off Draco by force – his bare hands or his wands, he hadn’t decided – but was woefully underprepared for what he had seen. For inside Narcissa’s room he didn’t see Draco or his father. Not his mother either, or Hermione for that matter. Instead he saw Wormtail speaking to Severus Snape.


	28. Chapter 28

Draco looked at his father with such intensity, the man actually turned around to look back. He could feel his cheeks burning with warmth as his sense of incredulity grew into fury. How could his own father do this to him? How could he possibly hate him so much?

The tall man positively smirked as he cleared his throat. “There you are, Fenrir. I’ve got a little something for you.”

He heard Granger’s gasp behind him and now Draco was really lost. How can he get her out of here? How can he ensure she gets away as quickly as possible?

The werewolf turned and with a cry of delight advanced upon them. “Draco, my dear boy! What are you doing here?” he stopped where Lucius stood, looking at him gleefully. “a very welcome surprise, Lucius, my friend. I was getting so bored stuck here in this castle, having no toys to amuse myself with.”

“Father,” Draco said, more shakily than he wished.

“You must have known, Draco, what would happen should you appear here today. You must have known.” His father’s smile paled by comparison to the smile on Greyback’s face. It was somewhere halfway between a grin of pure pleasure and a leer. Draco shook his head back to Lucius.

“Father,” he said again, although his mouth was exceedingly dry. Lucius was often cold, and mean and sometimes cruel; he dealt heavy punishments and Draco did not underestimate him. But this? Sending Greyback on him? This he didn’t see coming.

“Did you honestly think I did not know? That I would not find out as soon as it happened? There is nothing you can do that I would not hear of, Draco, no step you can take without my knowledge.” The grey eyes narrowed into two slits. Greyback’s head turned from boy to man with the speed of a spectator in a Quidditch game.

“Not such a happy reunion, then?” he asked, the wide smirk stretched on his awful face.

“I should say not. Draco has not been a good boy, you see. He did some bad, bad things, and for some reason he thought it will be a good idea to try and cross me. I have taken such careful steps, went to such great lengths to ensure my son will be obedient to me. I worked with utmost precision, uprooting all the sad little weaknesses, inserting with an iron fist what nobility obligates. And yet…” he sighed. “It seems like it wasn’t enough. It seems like I have failed.”

“Father,” Draco said for the third time, his mind frozen with fear. He stared at the familiar face, too astounded to say anything else. His father knows, he knew all along. He was a bloody fool for thinking otherwise. He should have foreseen this… stupid, stupid Draco, too numb and dumb to see clearly… He stepped right into his father’s trap, and now he brought Granger along with him.

“You failed me, son. You failed me, and even worse still, you failed our Lord. I wonder what you thought you could achieve, coming here today? Did you expect to see your mother for the last time? Did you think we would grant you this mercy? After you have been disloyal, a shame, a disgrace upon the family name and the Dark Lord? You will not receive any mercy or pardon from us today, Draco. You will have to pay the ultimate price for your failure.”

Hatred colder than fear pierced through him, and whatever it was that constricted his throat dislodged so he could speak once more. “I had always known you disliked me, Father, but never imagined you hated me so.” Fire blazed in his eyes as he looked at the tall man, and he was so furious he forgot to be scared. “Will you really not let me see her? Will you not let me see my mother before you cold heartedly murder your own son?’” Draco did not know where this courage came from; probably the desperation of the truly doomed. His father had done it, what he always feared deep down; he gave up on him. Now… now that he wasn’t himself anymore, didn’t have his father, maybe not even have Harry – who didn’t forgive him, couldn’t forgive him, wouldn’t forgive him – what did he have? What the hell did he have?

Lucius tilted his head to the side. “You think I intend to kill you, boy?”

Draco was confused. “Are you not? Is that not what your little speech was about?”

A long hiss came from his father and startled him. “I am not going to kill you, Draco. Really, you are being so dramatic. What should I stand to gain from killing my own heir? Surely I will not do such a careless thing.”

“Right,” he said, barely able to control his temper. “I forgot how much value you place upon my life. Only for the sake of keeping your possessions in order, of course, but nevertheless, I am touched.”

“Precisely,” Lucius grinned and it was so malicious, it made Draco’s head spin. He took a step towards the boy. “I treasure my belongings, son, as you know very well. I have gone to much trouble bringing you up the right way, and I do not intend to give it up so lightly. Why do you think I have not told our Lord about your failure yet? I do not wish to kill you. No; we will sort the mess you made together, and you shall be triumphant. You will complete your task and accomplish your mission, like you were always supposed to. Of course, you will still have to pay for your lapse in judgement.” There was a glimmer in his eyes now, and Draco had never hated anyone or anything like he hated his father there and then. Not the werewolf, not Harry, not Voldemort. Not even himself. He took a deep breath.

“At least let her go. She should not have to watch this.” Behind him he could feel Granger tremble.

“Watch what, son?” his father asked, leaning against a small expanse of bare wall. “What is it exactly that you think is going to happen right now?”

He knew what Lucius wanted him to say, still it was hard to form the words on his lips. He shook his head instead. “Let her apparate back into Hogsmeade. You can do whatever you want then. Just let her go.”

“So heartwarming,” Greyback croaked, eyes darting between Draco and Granger. “Young love at its finest. I must say, Draco, she hardly looks like the right choice for you. She’s not nearly beautiful enough, and far too tame. I could change that in an instant if you want, make her a beast worthy of your time.”

He tensed marginally. Granger’s hand in his felt cold and clammy. “You will not touch her, Greyback. You will not touch anyone I care about ever again.”

The werewolf seemed shocked for a second. “What is that, boy? What did you just say?”

“You heard me. I am done being scared of you. I am ready to face you now – I, and I alone.” Draco turned to his father. “This is supposed to be my punishment, is it not? Have right at it, then. As if I have not been punished enough by you this year. Do as you wish to me, but you must send her away.”

“I must?” Lucius repeated, swiftly detaching himself from the wall and looking at his son with interest. The torchlight danced and flickered on his pale face, making it look more colorful, lively, yet his eyes still looked dead. “I don’t think there is anything I _must_ do, Draco. It is not really for you to decide, now, is it?”

Granger seemed to be shaken into action. She released Draco’s hand and took a step forward. “You can’t hurt Draco. They will be expecting him back at the castle any moment now. If something happens to him – they would know it was you, and they would take you right back to Azkaban and make you pay for it.”

For a while, he just looked stunned. Then Lucius broke into laughter that didn’t translate into his eyes. “Be quiet, silly girl, and I might not let the werewolf tear you apart. Really, Draco, can you not at least control your little girlfriend?”

He half-turned his head to her, still keeping the tall man in his sight. Draco really disliked the cold look of determination on her face. “Pansy, please, stay out of this. Go back and find Goyle, okay? You can take him back to the castle _._ ” She must have understood how upset he was, because her face opened in shock.

“No, Draco – I will not leave you here alone with – “

“Please _,_ ” he begged, once more reaching for her hand and squeezing it tight. “Please, Pansy, you must do this now. You must leave. I’ll be fine, I promise. I will see you back at school shortly.” He could tell she did not believe him. It didn’t matter now, really. All that was important was that she will get the others and get the hell out of this wretched place.

“Draco…” she whispered, her eyes unusually large. In the firelight they seemed very green. It made him think of Harry so much it hurt.

There was nothing he hated to do more than beg, and it was almost uncanny how often he had to do it in the past year. Sometimes it seemed like he did nothing other than beg all year long with Harry. “Please,” he said again, lowering his glance to her feet, unable to look at her anymore. “Do this for me. Please.”

She was torn for a minute, and it was possible to see the dilemma in her eyes. Draco harnessed all his will power and looked at her with silent pleading. His shoulders dropped with relief when she closed her eyes and nodded once. Oh Lord. She was actually agreeing to go. He thought he might have to stun her by a spell and shove her out of the room.

“This is all well and good, but the question was yet to be answered, my boy. Again I must remind you it is not really your decision what will be of the girl.” Lucius stepped right to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. He was cool to the touch in a way that made Draco think of ghosts. But he was unfortunately solid and very present.

“You don’t want her to stay,” Draco said with disbelief. “You don’t want her to see what is about to happen any more than I do. You’re just doing this to toy with me, to frighten me. You cannot, Father. I am not a little child anymore. Do as you must, but please, just get on with it. I am weary of the wait.”

“You have grown,” the man said, stroking his cheek in an almost loving manner. “The boy I remember would never have dared speak to me like this. He would have bowed his head and waited for his punishment obediently.”

“I am not that boy anymore,” Draco said, suddenly so tired he could hardly stand. It was true. At the same time, it was also true that he had no idea who he was anymore, but it hardly mattered. “I have already been ripped open, Father, and torn to pieces. Nothing you can do scares me. Nothing at all.”

“Really? Nothing?” Lucius stopped and raised Draco’s chin with two fingers placed under it. He met his father’s gaze with a cold sense of acceptance. For a second, nothing existed bar the pair of eyes staring at him like he was everything that mattered in the world. He tried to look away, but was mesmerized; it was so rare that his father ever looked at him like this, that he saw him at all. Draco was only a game to him, a piece of property to mould and use at his will. But now, right now, he was everything. He hated just how much he yearned for this, how much he needed this feeling. With a great sense of urgency he tore his face away, fixing his eyes on the wall. He will _not_ surrender. He was so tired of being the victim. This was about to end now; he will meet his punishment head-on, with tenacity and bravery. He will not be a scared little child. He could not afford to be one anymore.

“Are we going to do this, then, Lucius? Not that I’m not enjoying the little stare-down, but…” Greyback’s voice brought them both back in an instant.

“You’re right. I have been a little carried away. Draco, you know what you are to do now. I expect you to comply entirely, or you will suffer severe consequences.” He looked at Granger who stood with a look of utter shock still splashed all over her face. “You have my permission to leave, girl. Take the other boy who is currently in the drawing room three floors below us and leave. If I see you one more time the offer is up and you will have to face my wrath on your own, without your little boyfriend.”

Draco gave her a last pleading look. _Please, please go_ , he said without opening his mouth. She nodded and turned, walking towards the door whose lock clinked open for her. Draco exhaled with relief and brought his face up to meet the two men in front, trembling only a little. In an instant all thoughts of Granger disappeared from his head and only they remained; his father and Greyback, the improbable duo of pain and terror. Who better to end this with, really? This was almost exactly how he imagined he would die. He only hoped he could stretch it long enough to allow the others enough time to escape.

He knew what will happen now, of course. He had been punished by his father enough times in his life, and he had the whole summer to get acquainted with Greyback’s methods. He felt oddly removed from the situation, as if it was happening to someone else, or maybe in a dream. He knew it won’t be long, though, what it is they were to do; whatever his father had in mind, it will not take much time until the Dark Lord finds out what happened. He will never get to leave this castle alive. He will die here, and he will watch his mother die here, and there was nothing really he could do. Strangely, he felt a sharp sense of relief. There was something so easy about it finally being out of his hands. And at least the three Gryffindors won’t be here for that.

With a sigh he bowed his head and brought his arms out, handing his wand out for his father.

***

Harry did a double-take. “Gregory? What are you doing here?” Snape was evidently too stunned to even sound mad. He gaped at the large boy with eyes so wide they seemed endless. Harry swore silently and took a step back out of the room. He grabbed the cloak around him and removed it, stashing it once more underneath his robes. Then he re-entered the room quickly, visible and standing straight. He met Snape’s gaze without hesitation.

“Professor,” he murmured, shoving Ron aside. He caught the other boy’s eyes for a second, and could see he felt the same as Harry; utterly lost.

 _“Draco?_ What – but why – “

“Hey, isn’t this the Malfoy boy?” Wormtail asked curiously. Snape didn’t seem for a moment able to answer. “But this is not who they – “

“Silence,” The Potions master collected himself. he looked at the man and then back at the boys. “Peter, I need a moment alone with my students.”

“But we were told to wait here,” the chubby man groaned, obviously unhappy to be receiving orders from Snape.

“I don’t care what – just go and wait in the hall, _now_!” very grumpily, the short man complied and left, closing the door after him. Snape sent a curse at the door, and from behind it Harry could hear a shriek of pain and then the sound of angry feet walking away. “Draco, what on earth are you doing?”

“I’ve come to see my mother,” Harry answered immediately. He didn’t trust Snape enough to confess his real identity to him. Perhaps he likes Draco – maybe he would even help him. But Harry? All he would do for him would be to spit in his face before sending him to Voldemort reeling.

“You _what_? Draco, how could you have been so foolish? To come _now_ , after you’ve failed your test? And you brought Goyle with you?”

“I wanted to come,” Ron said in a passable imitation of the boy’s menacing tone. “I told Draco he has to take me, or I’ll tell on him.”

Harry shot him a grateful look for coming up with a fairly reasonable story. “You do have your wand back, don’t you, Draco? Why would you let Greggory tell you what to do now?” Snape seemed unimpressed.

“I didn’t. I came here for her, like I told you. I told Goyle he can come if he likes to see where all the big scary Death Eaters live.” He smiled malevolently, and was probably doing a good enough pass at being Draco, for Snape looked less suspicious.

“That is so foolish, Draco, you could have endangered him greatly – I cannot believe even you would think to take revenge on him so carelessly –“

Harry had to stop him there; he knew Draco would never have done anything like this. “No, Professor. I never meant for him to get harmed. Just a little frightened, is all.”

The man hissed something in return that he didn’t quite catch. “Tell me the truth, Draco. What is going on here exactly? Where is Potter?”

Harry nearly choked on his gasp. “Where’s – who?”

“Do not play innocent with me. I know he is here, and so does every other Death Eater in the building. Draco, your father is here – your aunt – and it won’t take long until the Dark Lord will be with us too. I know you brought him here today, and perhaps you think this will do to accomplish your mission – but Draco, before you present him to them, you have to let me help you. We must do this the _right_ way.”

Harry was aware through the building panic in his gut that Snape sounded actually distressed. Maybe he does want to save Harry’s life after all. But there wasn’t really time to get caught up on these details. “How do they know?”

“The alarms have been set off, they know there are intruders about. They’ve placed special alarms to tell them if the boy is here, which rang mere minutes ago – what were you thinking, Draco? The Dark Lord doesn’t trust you enough. Your father doesn’t trust you either. He’s long had a suspicion you might try and – well, break in here to try and get your mother. Where is he? It is imperative you let me speak to him first.”

Harry was completely at a loss. What do they do now? They have to get the others and get away. Perhaps telling Snape now would be the right thing to do – perhaps it was their only option – “Professor, I – “

But he missed his chance; the door opened and Wormtail stood there with a nasty grin. Next to him was the face Harry hoped he’d never have to see again. God, Bellatrix only looked worse the more he stared at her. “There you are, Draco. I thought I told you to remain in the study.”

“I called him here,” Snape intervened, thankfully for Harry who had absolutely no reply for her. “I heard he was about and wished to have a discussion between us.”

“Did you, Severus? Do you not get enough of him in your beloved castle?” Bellatrix gave him her most obnoxious smirk. “You’ve heard we have company?”

“Yes,” the Potions master nodded once. “That is, partly, why I wanted to see Draco.”

“Oh? What do you mean?”

“I was wondering if perhaps he was the one who set off the alarm, Bellatrix. Without intention, of course. I would hate to have Him brought here for no good reason.”

She seemed affected by those words as if he was insulting her personally. “The boy has been spotted, Severus. The fire doesn’t lie - you know that. This is no false alarm. But it might still have everything to do with Draco, of course.”

Harry forced himself to look at her. “I didn’t bring Potter here, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Really?” she asked in a tone softer than silk. “I thought perhaps that was why you arrived today. And you wished to speak to Lucius, to the Dark Lord… you don’t need to shy from me, dear nephew. I would be most proud to hear you’ve accomplished your task after all. I did not understand at first – not until the alarm – but now I understand everything. You did well, Draco. You will get rewarded.”

Harry brought his eyes back to the dark-haired man, helpless. He wanted dearly for him to say something, get him out of this mess. God, Draco was right. They never should have come here. This was such a mistake. “I do think you’re getting ahead of yourself, Bellatrix. Draco hadn’t said he brought the boy yet. If you would allow us a few minutes to discuss the matter – “

“Why, Snape? So you could steal all the glory to yourself, like you always do?” her voice was cold and removed, and reminded Harry terribly of Draco’s when he’s angry. “No, I don’t think so. Why don’t we all have a talk together? I am sure Lucius will be happy to join us.”

“I seem to have lost his whereabouts at the moment,” Snape replied swiftly. Bellatrix scoffed.

“You know where he will be, Severus. And in any case, if you think there was a fault in the alarm – there’s only one thing for us to do. We need to ensure there was no malfunction, and we had better do it fast, before He arrives.”

Harry felt the familiar jolt of dread coursing through him. Snape answered quickly before he could think any further. “Right. Draco, Goyle, why don’t you stay here – Bellatrix and I can go and have a look – “

“No,” she interrupted, malicious grin widening. “Draco will come with us, Severus. As you said, the boy is the one we need to hear. He will know best what is going on.”

Harry could see in the black eyes that Snape was fighting hard to find an acceptable answer, an excuse, but failed. He gave Draco a measured look. Harry rushed into his aid without really thinking about it. “That’s all right, Professor. We’ll all go together. We can get to the bottom of this.” He had very little faith he could convince the Death Eaters that he somehow set the alarm off accidentally. However, at this stage, there was really nothing else to be done. They had less than twenty minutes before they would all go back to looking like themselves, and by then it will be too late. He did a little mental check-list as he followed Ron and Snape into the hall and down the stairs after the rushing figure of the tall lady. They have to find Hermione and Draco, somehow hide the fact there are two Draco Malfoys currently in the castle, get Narcissa, and get out… second by second their mission seemed more impossible. He hoped Dobby was still in there as they were marched off back into the drawing room and into God-knows-what else.

***

Granger wasn’t even at the door yet when it burst open and someone ran through. Draco caught his wand, a second away from being grabbed by his father, and pulled it back towards him, ready to wield – but the incomer didn’t look at him. Instead he addressed the two men. “Greyback, here you are – oh, and Lucius too, I looked all over for you – have you heard? The alarm’s been set off.”

“It has?” Draco didn’t like his father’s tone. It suggested he learned something that pleased him greatly. “How very interesting.”

“Yes, He is coming down as well – the drawing room’s where they came in from, so everyone’s heading there. This could really be happening this time.” There was excitement in Dolohov’s voice that rattled Draco. What alarm have they triggered? Where were the others right now? He stepped quickly to stand next to Granger, who gave him an ashen-colored look in return. This was bad, way worse than bad.

“I see. Thank you, Dolohov. We will join you momentarily. There are still a few things I need to discuss with my son before we descend.”

The Death Eater shrugged. He gave Draco and Granger curious looks before turning and closing the door back behind him. Draco really wished he hadn’t; if ever there was a time they needed a chance at a quick getaway, this was it. This was no longer just between him and his father; what if Lucius makes them go and head right into Harry, looking like him? How could they get away if every Death Eater in the vicinity is heading towards their exit? And if the Dark Lord is arriving – he felt a lump settling in his throat and making it slightly hard to breathe. He could not speak a word.

“So, my son. A very interesting turn of events, I’d say. Do you know what it means?”

Draco shook his head, hoping he was going to find out soon. “Come on, Lucius,” Greyback whispered impatiently. “We need to go if He’s going to be there soon.”

“Just one moment, Fenrir. You see, Draco, the alarm being set off can mean one of two things: either you have, for the first time in your life, brought me great pride – or you have been foolish enough to completely betray me.” The lump was only increasing in size somehow, and Draco was slightly panting. “Which is it, son?”

He forced himself to swallow heavily. “I’m not sure I know to what you are referring.”

“You don’t? how disappointing.” Lucius turned and looked at Granger. “How many more of your friends did you bring, Draco?”

Something cold and hard struck his chest rapidly. “No one, Father. Only Goyle and Pansy. There is no one else here.”

“Ah, but we both know that isn’t true. Tell me, girl, have you seen anyone else? Perhaps you brought someone along when you apparated?”

“N-no, I came by myself,” she hurried to answer.

“What did you say your name was, dear?” Whatever it was in Draco’s chest only became colder.

“Pansy. Pansy Parkinson. We’ve met before, Mr. Malfoy.” Granger still seemed to have her wits about her, a fact which he appreciated immensely.

“So we have. Forgive me, I do forget sometimes. The past year affected me in many different ways.” He tilted his head to the side inquisitively, and Draco knew it meant he was not convinced. “Could you remined me, where was it that we met?”

“It was – at your house, Mr. Malfoy, I’m sure,” she said. Draco struggled not to express his relief. He had no idea if the girl could read it from his eyes or was just incredibly intuitive.

“Come on, Father, she’s got nothing to hide. What is it that you want? Tell us, or let us go already. There is hardly any time for idle chat.” He hoped he didn’t sound too stressed.

“Yeah, Lucius – we need to get going,” Greyback agreed from the side. Lucius raised one hand towards him in a quelling manner. It worked; the werewolf quietened again.

“I will tell you, dear son, all you need to know. As to whether she is saying the truth or not – I suppose there is an easy enough way to find out. We could simply wait and see what changes time will bring forth. But you are right; time is exactly what we do not have. The alarm, boy, means Harry Potter has been spotted in the castle.”

“What?” Draco couldn’t have stopped this urgent whisper even if he tried.

“Yes, Draco. Your little target was seen in the castle right after an intruder alarm was set off. This certainly does complete the puzzle, so to speak.”

“In what sense?” Draco asked. His tone was fairly leveled for the dizziness he felt.

“This is why you came today, is it not? You brought Potter here. The only real question, Draco, is whether you did this to bring him to me, or to try and outsmart me. I hope for your sake it is option number one, son. Even I will not be happy to see what becomes of you if it is in fact option two.”

Draco sighed. “I did not bring Potter here.”

“Come on, Draco. Do you take me for a fool? I know it was you who brought him. When I heard you failed your test, I thought you must have abandoned your task, abandoned me. And when you came here today, I thought that was proof. But I may have been wrong. I may have judged prematurely. Perhaps after all you are the son I deserve, and not just a cowardly worm sent to torment me.” He took a step towards Draco and looked him in the eyes. “Tell me, son. Tell me what you planned to do with him today. Tell me, and you may be exonerated. Tell me and you may be forgiven.”

Draco shivered so hard he nearly fell. In the grey eyes, previously deadened, was now everything he could ever dream of. There was recognition there, and pride, and hope – perhaps this time Draco really will do the right thing, really will please him. Last year’s Draco would have slit his wrists for this; this Draco, the Draco of this moment… lost Draco, doesn’t know who he is Draco, has absolutely nothing Draco – beaten into pulp Draco – what would this Draco do?

There was only a split second to make a decision, to choose a path. Draco thought harder than he ever did in his life, images flashing before his eyes, pathways and possibilities calculated instantaneously. Everything he’s ever dreamed of… scorn and mistrust on Harry’s side. His father’s pride and love… the look of sheer hatred in Harry’s eyes. What could he do? What was the only thing he could do?

“Of course I brought him, Father. I brought him here to you. I completed my task at last.”

Elation shimmered in the grey eyes. “And the girl?”

Draco exhaled, letting his shoulders drop. Being the right thing didn’t mean this would be easy. “I brought his friends too, Weasley and Granger. He would not have come alone.”

“Of course not,” Lucius said, masking Granger’s stunned gasp. “Where is he, Draco? And why haven’t you told me?”

“In order to bring them here, I had to come up with an excuse. I told them I intend to rescue Mother and required their assistance. When we arrived I came looking for you, but we got separated. I did not want to tell you anything before I had all three in my hands – I didn’t want to risk failing you.”

“Well done, my boy. I am proud and slightly surprised to hear you managed to pull this off. Do you know where the other two are?”

“No,” Draco breathed, lowering his eyes to the ground. “When you took me up here I lost bearings of them. But I am certain they will make their way to the drawing room. We should head there before He arrives, make sure we have them all.”

Greyback made a pleased sound from behind the tall man. “Does that mean I get to taste your little girlfriend, then, Draco?”

“No,” he raised his head faster than lightning. He looked at the werewolf with a mixture of repulsion and detestation. “You will leave them all for the Dark Lord. He will decide what to do with them.”

“Draco,” Granger gasped next to him, and he could not bring himself to look at her. “Draco!”

Lucius grabbed her by the shoulders and stared her down. “Silence, girl. Be quiet, or I will spell your dirty little mouth shut for you. Come, Draco. They will be expecting us down there, and as you say, we must first ensure the boy is present before we can let our Lord arrive.”

Draco walked out of the room without looking at Granger. His heart was heavy and his feet were even heavier, so every step was a struggle. Still, this was the only way. There was nothing else he could have done at this point. With a sniffle he brought his head up and walked the increasingly familiar way to the drawing room.


	29. Chapter 29

Harry’s feeling of unease only intensified when they went inside the drawing room. About five Death Eaters he hadn’t seen since the ministry last summer huddled around the sofas with gloating smiles and excited whispers. They subsided when Bellatrix came in, and then all eyes were on Harry as he and Ron followed Snape into a quiet corner of the room, far away from the fire. He felt incredibly exposed, as if everyone in there knew exactly who he was, and prayed that’s not the case. Bellatrix fell into conversation with Yaxley next to the fireplace, and seemed to have forgotten all about them.

“We must find Potter now, Draco,” Snape murmured, faking an interest in the wallpaper behind him. “If we don’t, it may be too late. Have you any idea where he is?”

“Professor, you should know – “ the rest of the sentence was swallowed with a wave of nausea as the door opened and Narcissa walked in. She made her way straight to them, ignoring the furious look her sister sent from across the room.

“Draco,” she whispered, and placed a hand on his shoulder. Harry shook his head a fraction, and a widening in her eyes told him she understood he wasn’t really her son.

“What are you doing, Narcissa? You shouldn’t be here. He will arrive shortly – “

“I cannot stay in my room any longer, Severus, after you have thrown me out of it,” she answered coldly and met his gaze. “Do you have another suggestion as to where I should go?”

“You know you can’t be with Draco! Lucius will be coming here too – he will not be pleased to see you together – “

“I do not care what pleases Lucius,” she snarled. “I will be with my son and there is nothing he can do to stop me.”

“Professor, listen, there is something I really need to tell you – “ it seemed like they will not get a better time, and Harry was all out of options. He would have to confide in the man he hated, because he had no choice – because he had to save his friends no matter what it will cost. But Bellatrix, who walked towards them, caught the last part.

“What is it, Draco, dear? And what exactly are you doing out of your room again, Cissy? I thought I told you – “

“This is my fault, actually,” Snape cut her off curtly. “I needed the room for my inspection. It is perhaps better that she stays with us for now, Bellatrix. We all need to be present if the boy is really here.”

Bellatrix scoffed, but she said nothing. Harry racked his brain desperately. What could he do? How could he get him and Ron out of here? Or how could he get Draco and Hermione in, and the Death Eaters out? Things were beginning to look a little desperate for them. He gave Ron a desolate look, and received a somber little nod in return. More and more Death Eaters were filing in; there were about fifteen of them now, some faces Harry had never seen before, some that he only saw as wanted ads in the newspapers. For a large room, it sure felt suffocating. The situation was getting way too sticky, and fear for Draco and Hermione filled him up like a prickly of sea of scorpions. Will they also be coming here? Where are they and with who? What in the world are they going to do?

Harry glanced at Snape, wondering how to talk to him without being understood by the others, how to inform him of what’s going on. Unbidden memories rocked him all of a sudden; Harry trying to use codes with Snape so that Umbridge doesn’t understand… Snape looking back at him with cold, empty eyes and saying he was mad… God, this was so not the right sort of thing to be thinking of right now… it doesn’t matter what happened in the past, he cannot save Sirius now – but he can, and he must, save the others.

His hand balled around his wand, and he saw Ron holding his firmly. If it comes to it, if they have to, they will fight. He will not go down just like that, without even trying to stand up for himself. Best case scenario, they get Hermione and Draco, grab Narcissa, and give it their best shot. Worst case – well – if he takes some Death Eaters down with him, all the better. If he can’t make it out of here… at least they will not say Harry Potter died a coward. They will say he fought to his very last breath. The thought of his own impending end beat inside him like a second heart, remote and impossible. It was frightening just as it felt unreal to him. How could he possibly die when he feels so alive? How can this be it, after all they had gone through, all there’s still to do? Harry’s thoughts were getting more and more panicky. If only he could get the others out of here, then it will be worth it. If only he could…

All thoughts melted in his head into a lake of boiling magma and for a second he could only stare with his mouth open. Into the room entered Lucius Malfoy, all sprightly and upright, a look of utmost glee on his thin face. Then Fenrir Greyback came through, just as terrible as Harry remembered him, followed closely by Hermione as Pansy. And… yes. Draco bringing up the rear. He closed the door behind him and refused to look in Harry’s direction. For a moment, everyone just stared in shock.

“What – “ Snape was the first to react, eyes jumping from one figure of Draco Malfoy to the other.

“Who is this, then?” Bellatrix asked, astounded. She wasn’t looking at any of the boys; instead her eyes were on Lucius.

“It appears that a very interesting turn of events has occurred, my dear Bellatrix,” Lucius smiled benevolently. “Do tell them, boy.” Harry felt his own throat clamping shut with terror as Draco opened his mouth to speak to the rug.

“I am Draco Malfoy,” he said to the totally silent room. “And that boy over there – he – that is Harry Potter.”

A wave of ferocious murmuring ran through the crowd like an electrical shock. “What did you say?” Snape asked very softly.

“Yes, Severus, you heard him right. The boy standing next to you is no other than the infamous Harry Potter. Draco has completed his task at last. He has presented our Lord with his greatest wish.” If Harry thought his heart was beating fast before, now it was competing for Olympic record. He began to feel quite dizzy again.

“But how do you know for sure?” Snape added incredulously. “How can you tell?”

“Do you mean to imply I do not know my own son?” Lucius asked in an icy tone. The professor didn’t exactly blush, but some color rose in his cheeks.

“Of course not, Lucius. I just mean – with the spells they have on them, how would one – “

“There’s an easy way to find out,” Bellatrix grinned viciously. “Draco, get down on your knees. We should have this done with in no time.”

“No,” Narcissa whispered at his side, so softly Harry wasn’t sure he actually heard her. Only then she repeated, louder, more desperately: “No!”

Harry’s frozen mind didn’t grasp a hundred percent of the goings-on, but he knew from her tone that whatever they were going to do was bad. “He is telling the truth,” he said before the blond had a chance to move, and all the eyes in the room zoomed back to him. “I am Harry Potter. Here’s your verification.”

“Seize them,” Lucius called happily, and without even having a second to collect himself Harry found Bellatrix on him, wand up and confuddled look morphing into wicked smile. He raised his own wand, ready to fight, but then heard Draco’s voice.

“Don’t, Harry. Give it up. Just – just give her your wand.”

“But, Draco,” Harry countered as logically as he could. This course of action didn’t feel altogether wise.

“Harry, please. Let it go.” He was at such a state of shock, and the boy’s tone was so miserable, he did exactly what Draco told him. He handed his wand over to the witch, then watched as she took Ron’s away. Draco walked over to her quickly and collected the wands from her hand in a vacant sort of stare.

“What’s going on, Draco?” he asked fervently when the blond was near, but still Draco never looked at him. Harry tried desperately to catch his eye. What was his plan? What was he doing? Draco turned back to face his father.

“Bring her over there.” Greyback grabbed Hermione by the arm and half dragged her across the room to stand next to Harry and Ron, who hastened to take a hold of her and pull her aside, standing so he was in between her and the werewolf. Greyback chuckled and returned to standing next to Lucius.

“Malfoy, what are you doing?” Ron asked in Goyle’s deep voice. He too went ignored.

“Well, Draco, is this it? are you sure this is them?” Lucius sounded victorious, his eyes traveling between the three teenagers, looking at them as if they were some delicious treat he couldn’t wait to have. It made Harry feel ill. He wished he could understand a single one of the screaming thoughts in his head.

“I believe so, Father.” Draco wasn’t meeting his father’s eyes, either. He kept his low on the ground, seemingly unable to keep them in one place; it almost looked like he was searching the room. Harry noticed he was intently not looking at his mother.

“Good, Draco. Very good. You have finally done the right thing. You have succeeded where all else failed, and you will be rewarded accordingly. Draco, I am so proud of you. I have never been happier to call you my son.”

For a second the boy just seemed lost for words. He looked at his father as if unable to believe what he heard. Then he bowed his head again, overcome by emotions. Harry felt the familiar bubbling in his gut. So this was it, then? He should have known. Some of the screams in his head formed into clear sentences. Lucius’s affection meant more to Draco than Harry’s, that much was clear. And the initial sting of learning that was enough to wake him up to the sad reality around him. Then realization so sharp, so painful took over him and for a long moment he could not speak.

“You son of a bitch,” he said as soon as he remembered how to use his tongue, completely blind with fury. “You evil, unbelievable son of a bitch.”

He should have known. He should have fucking known. Not even a month ago did he experience the exact same feeling, this blinding rage combined with acute disbelief. He should have known, and God damn it, he did know. Why, why did he not listen to himself back then? How could he let this happen, _again_?

Lucius laughed, a cold and detached sound that was completely humorless. “You thought he was your friend, didn’t you, Potter? You thought you can trust him.”

Harry did his best to ignore him. He stared only at Draco, with such force that he felt must compel the boy to look back. He still wasn’t sure if he understood what _exactly_ was going on here, but he thought he got a pretty good sense of it. This was all a set-up, all a part of the plan. Draco fooled him, again. And Harry let him. What he planned to do all year – the evil plot of killing him – he never abandoned it. No; what Draco did was just somehow manage to convince him he had. Just so he could stab him in the back again. Just so he could sell him out to Voldemort.

“Look at me,” he groaned painfully. “Draco, look at me.” It was very important to him now to see it, the truth of it all in the pale eyes. He had to know right now, had to see it for himself. He had to know. But Draco didn’t raise his head, his eyes still scanning the floor, and he was left without a definite answer. Betrayal didn’t feel like fire anymore; instead it was a frozen shaft that ran through his heart and bled him out.

 _You did this_ , a small voice said inside his head. _You were the one who insisted on coming here. You let him play you so well_. It was unbelievable, really. He begged Draco for them to come here. How could he be such an idiot? How could he be so incredibly stupid? And now because of him, Ron and Hermione in danger too – what are they going to do with them, what will they do to them – and suddenly all the hate and anger that filled him disappeared, all the pain forgotten, for all he could feel was utter panic. He had to do something to save them. But what? What could he possibly do, wandless, outnumbered? Now that even Draco wasn’t on their side?

“You don’t need them as well,” he said, directing his words towards Lucius. “Your master wants me, he has no use for them. Let the others go, and I will come quietly.”

“Harry, no,” Ron said urgently, taking his arm in his hand.

Infuriatingly, Lucius laughed again. “Chivalry is not dead, ladies and gentleman! It lives and breathes through this boy right here. A rare specimen, I must say. shame he will not be here for that much longer.”

“Is He coming, Father?” Draco asked quietly. “Is He going to apparate here soon?”

“Yes, Draco. He will arrive very shortly. In the meantime, why don’t you handle your classmates? Tie them and round them up in the corner. Soon enough I expect the Polyjuice potion will wear off and we could easily identify them. Then when He comes along, you shall receive an honor beyond your dreams.”

“I will do it,” Bellatrix intervened, raising her wand. “I’ve always wanted another go at Potter, you know, after last summer.”

“You piece of – “ Harry was unable to restrain himself any longer; hysteria and loathing made him dumb and he leaped at her, fists sending everywhere, not even caring if he made contact or not – she was too stunned to react at first, and Harry managed to knock her to the ground, screeching and spluttering. But too quickly he was overpowered by a curse shot by one of the Death Eaters, and two sets of strong arms brought him up and threw him roughly to the corner where his friends stood, Ron looking terribly pale and Hermione with tears in her eyes. God, Harry thought, what did I do? what did I do? They were going to die and it’s all because of him, all because of him…

“As I said, Draco,” Lucius’s tone was as light as ever, as if nothing at all happened, “please make sure our prisoners are contained.” No one argued with the assignment of the task anymore; Bellatrix was still getting back to her feet, looking at the boys with cold interest. Draco’s shoulders dropped, but he took a few steps towards them with his wand at the ready.

“You bastard,” Ron hissed from Harry’s left as Draco approached them, and Harry could see the words affecting his shoulders even lower, but he said nothing in response. “I can’t believe I ever fell for your sorry act, Malfoy.”

“Draco, please,” he heard Hermione beg as he stopped in front of them. “You don’t have to do this. We can help you. Please, just think about what you’re doing."

“I’m sorry,” he said, and it almost sounded genuine though he refused to look at any of them still. “I really am sorry. But you know I have to do this. I have no choice.”

“You do have a choice,” she pleaded, to general laughter from the crowd of Death Eaters which she ignored with much dignity. “Draco, there’s always a choice!”

“Not for me,” he said, and with what seemed like an enormous amount of effort he met her glance. It seemed like he was truly trying to apologize.

“No, you’ve made your choice a long time ago,” Harry snarled. Draco reacted as if he’d hit him, his gaze falling back to the floor. “You told me, all those months ago, do you remember? You told me this is what you wanted. Well, Malfoy, you got it. Your beloved Voldemort will be happy with you at last. Maybe he will even stop torturing you for a second to tell you how well you’ve done.” He was so upset, he nearly drew no pleasure from the collective trembling that went through the room when he said their master’s name.

“Come on, Draco,” Lucius’s drawling voice said at last. “Get on with it, now. We don’t have much time.”

“I just feel sorry for your mum,” Ron said through gritted teeth as Draco raised his wand again, and Harry nodded vehemently. “It’s a shame she’ll have to see what a slimy awful git you really are inside. And to think we’ve actually had hope for you.” Harry intentionally did not look at Narcissa.

“You don’t understand,” Draco said, shaking his head. “None of you understand. This is who I am, who I was brought up to be. I have nothing else left in me now. After all these weeks – there is nothing else I can do. This is what I’ve been trained for all my life. And – “ suddenly he stopped, his eyes coming to rest on a certain spot on the ground. He looked at it for a few seconds, as if trying to remember something he forgot, then closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he didn’t look at his classmates, but at his mother who stood closest to them on Harry’s right. “I’m sorry,” he said again, and his voice broke.

“You should be.” Harry shook his head with more sadness than fury. “In the end, Malfoy, everything you said was true. You deserve everything that’s happened to you.” After that Draco finally turned his head to look at Harry.

Harry took his time looking back at him, shock and nausea swirling inside him in quick waves. He didn’t know what he expected to find in the silvery eyes now. He had seen so many different emotions reflected in them. He saw hate, back when he and Draco were rivals. He saw anger, spite, contempt. He saw hurt in those eyes, too, and pleading, although there was probably nothing Draco hated more than to beg. He saw affection and warmth deep in the silver as the two of them were getting closer, he saw joy. He saw surprise, delight. So many different emotions, so many different modes their weird friendship has gone through. But now, looking into his eyes, Harry had no idea what he would see. Victory, because Harry fell for his ploy? Disdain, for him not being clever enough? Loathing, because after all this time, this was still what Draco truly felt?

He almost didn’t have the courage to look. To see what Draco’s eyes held in store now would be in some way to seal his fate. He brought them here – there was no getting around this fact; it was Harry’s own actions that brought them to where they currently stood. And in this, the last judgement he would go through, the last judgement he cared about, Harry would learn exactly what he has done. What he was worth, everything in his life up until now, and everything he will never be. He knew he wasn’t placing too much on this; it was his one and only chance to really see what the fricking hell happened to him this year. So even though it made him sick to his stomach, and even though he was nearly not brave enough, and even though it was the hardest thing he ever did in his life, Harry looked.

 _Love_. The one thing he did not expect to see in the silver was the only thing he could detect. Love, so tender, so raw, it hurt in the deepest parts of his soul. Draco was trying to tell him something, to make him understand, but Harry had no idea what. He was overwhelmed by the emotion he had seen, and could not comprehend a single thing more. For less than a second the world froze and it was just Harry looking into Draco’s eyes in a bubble of crystal where the light was fragmented and dense and the ceiling was the floor. Nothing made sense anymore, and nothing ever had to. He was so moved, he could not say a single word, activate a single muscle. Completely overpowered he just stood and stared.

Therefore when the grey smoke appeared, he didn’t do anything. His eyes widened and his ears heard the screams, but his mind was still blank. The world around him was running in slow motion, sounds came as though from underneath a deep layer of water; he could understand nothing, think of nothing. Panicked, he looked around – Ron and Hermione were on either side of him, so close they were touching, coughing in great gulps the thick smoke that blocked the rest of the room from view. Then someone grabbed his arm as the world seemed to collapse around them, and shoved a wand into his hand – Draco –

It was like pulling his head up from a frozen lake; suddenly he was back to his senses and the world snapped into order around him. Draco was taking a step back towards the center of the room and the other side of the smoke veil, but already as he walked he was changing – Harry had exactly a tenth of a second to wonder when he managed to get one of Harry’s hairs, before he no longer looked like Draco – he yelled, sending a hand out to get him, but it was too late – the boy was already out of the cover of the thick smoke, and Harry heard more shouting. Then, in Harry’s own voice, although he had not spoken: “Dobby, _NOW!”_

The smoke kept getting darker and darker, and it stung his throat and made his eyes water. It must have acted as a sort of a sound-muffler, too, because Harry could barely hear what he was certain were pretty loud voices from the Death Eaters trapped on the other side of it. Out of the smoke a body slammed into him, and Harry caught on just in time when a little hand took his and he grabbed Ron and Hermione, four bodies tight against one another, and the little house-elf at their knees. In an instant they were all gone into the tight black void that Harry will never learn to like and away of the smell of something burning.


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: torture ahead. I know I did warn you guys, but that was *such* a long time ago, I thought we could do with a refresher. Well, here it comes...

Draco gave the crowd five seconds to see him clearly before he tore out of the door and into the hallway at top speed. He was certain enough people have seen him; he could already hear the shouts behind: “Potter! that was Potter right there! Forget the others, _he’s_ the one we need – out in the corridor – “

Then the yelling got closer as some of the Death Eaters were already gaining on him. He let them get near enough until he heard a very definite shout – “He’s here, we got him, right here!” he looked back; about ten figures running in the hall towards him. Good enough.

He continued his run, sending blind spells behind him without stopping to look if they hit. There was a sharp pain in his sides, and he could still feel the sting of the smoke in his throat, but he didn’t let up the run. He curved with the hallway and almost glided on the carpet, heart close to leaping out of his throat, breath so hard he almost couldn’t take it. Then out of nowhere he hit a firm brick wall that definitely was not there before, head-first. Stunned, he paused to look. Someone must have cast a spell on the corridor. Oh well; he never really thought he’d have a chance to outrun them. He just needed to create a sufficient distraction.

The idea of smoke came to him on the stairs, when he saw the chimneys through the gaps in the walls. Luckily he knew a spell and was able to summon it even when he thought he might die of the pain. That Harry would so easily believe he betrayed him – but then again, what else could he have thought? It’s not like Draco gave him so many reasons to trust him. He could not blame Harry, not really. Just… it still hurt, especially because that was the last time he would ever see him.

Here they come; Draco could see their faces sharpening into detail. Absently he opened the door to his left and jumped behind it, as a very last resort. It was another bedroom, smaller than his mother’s and completely dark. He took cover behind the single bed and raised his wand, ready to fight for as long as he remained standing.

But no one barged through the door, no one came in. Draco tried to quieten his breathing so he could hear what’s going on in the corridor. Then he heard his father’s voice carrying through to him, drawling in a very relaxed manner. “Come out now, Potter. We know you are in there. You might have noticed your potion has ran out. Now come with us like a good boy.”

Draco snorted. “I don’t think so, Malfoy. You want to get me, you can come right here and take me in person.” It was a very exceptional experience, to speak in Harry’s deep voice.

“I wouldn’t be so quick to refuse if I were you. I would strongly advise you’d come out without making a fuss. I assure you it will be best for all parties involved.”

Draco rubbed his tired eyes that still burned from the smoke. “Are you scared to fight a little boy, Malfoy?” he hoped this will sting.

“Not at all. I assure you I can best you in any type of combat you may choose. Only I suggest you come out now, because we do have your friend here, and I don’t think you’d want to jeopardize their life so carelessly.”

Draco’s chest became rock hard for a second. “You’re lying,” he said immediately.

There was a pause. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. There’s only one way for you to find out, really.” Draco closed his eyes and thought hard. In the drawing room he communicated with Dobby, made sure he was close enough to get everyone away. Why would he not take them all? Who could he have left behind? His father was probably lying. Most definitely lying. And still… fear nagged at the back of his mind.

“I don’t believe you. I need some sort of – proof – “ Draco realized he was being ridiculous, but if he went out now, no more could he stretch the diversion.

“How would you like me to prove it to you, stupid boy? Your friend is all the way back in the drawing room. Come back with me and you will see.”

Draco took a deep breath. He knew that if he wants to keep up the pretense for as long as the potion allows, he must act like Harry. And acting like Harry could only mean one thing at the moment. He stood up tall and opened the door.

In the hallway, just like he expected, he saw most of the Death Eaters that were in the drawing room. Snape was missing, and so were Wormtail and Greyback; all the rest were there. His mother, Draco noted with a rapid glance, was also not present. Lucius stood right in front of the door, wand pointing towards him and an icy smile on his face. Draco considered trying to pick a fight, even just for the fun of it, but someone had already cast a binding spell on him and ropes tied his hands behind his back. He let the men take his wand and lead him back to the drawing room, feeling their eyes on him all the time. God, it was uncomfortable to be Harry Potter. Poor Harry. He went into the room without being addressed any further.

The smoke had mostly cleared away, but there were still some remnants of it near the ceiling. Draco looked at the swirling puffs proudly; he was always very pleased with his wand-work. He breathed out with relief when he saw no one else was in the room; his father was, after all, lying. He was never more grateful to be deceived. A spell at his back sent him crashing to the floor, where he was attacked again by another spell that made his head spin. Ah, here it comes. Pain. How novel. Now that he was at his very lowest, Draco could find it all funny again. It didn’t matter that he was torn and there was nothing to be confused about anymore, because he _fucking did it_. And in any case – soon nothing will matter.

Lucius pointed his wand at Draco and made him rise, hovering above the floor vertically but with his head facing down. “I’m afraid to say you’ve been duped, Potter. No one to blame but yourself, really.” He turned away and Draco barley heard as he whispered to the side, “And my son?”

“He’s gone,” Draco said a little madly, his face getting very red and warm with all the blood rushing to it. He spun lazily in the air, at times facing Lucius and the other men, at times the scorched wall where his spell burned a big hole in the tapestry.

“What do you mean?” Lucius asked coldly, and took a step closer to him. Draco tried to cough a few times, but it’s really no easy feat when you’re tied and upside down, so he spluttered rather than spoke.

“He’s – away – “ the spell that held him aloft was removed and he fell to the ground, choking and taking in big gulps of air. “He left you, Malfoy. He was really on my side all along.” How freeing it was to speak to his father as Harry. How easy to be disrespectful, to be brave. It was almost worth the shooting pain that blazed through his entire body the next second when his father shot a Cruciatus curse at him. Merlin, he forgot how good Lucius was with these.

The pain was unbelievable; all his bones were breaking at the same time, every single one of his muscles was tearing, all his nerves disengaging from his spinal cord one after the other. He was engulfed by a roaring flame – no, he was drowning, and the sheet of ice above his head was closing - his breath caught in his lungs, his eyes rolled to the back of his head, his heart tripled its beating speed. He wanted to scream, needed to scream, but could not – his tongue was stuck in his throat and he could not breathe – his lungs begged for air, his brain signaling hysterically, and the pain was becoming too intense, unbearable –

Then it was all over. Draco found himself curled into a ball on the floor. Laughter rang in his ears but was unintelligible, far away. He did not care about the laughing men right now, could not care about them. Only the sweet, slightly-smokey air that he breathed in with more than a little panic. He had no idea what they will do next, none at all. And when they find out – if they will not kill him by then – Draco could not even bring himself to try and guess what will happen to him.

Another spell flung him across the room straight to the wall, and Draco banged his head on it so hard he saw stars. Harry’s glasses, which he magicked for himself back at the Room of Requirement for this exact eventuality, fell and shattered on the floor. He blinked and stared at the blurry images of the people in front of him. When he thought he might have to take on Harry’s appearance, he hoped for something slightly better than this. Hope is for the fools, though, like his father always said. Perhaps some things he taught him weren’t wrong after all. Perhaps he wasn’t just a thoroughly evil, no good bastard.

Another torture spell was cast at him and changed his opinion right back up. It was a fact; Lucius Malfoy was nothing but an evil bastard. Draco found his tongue just fine this time, and he yelled with all the force still in him, panting and heaving on the floor to which he slid, back against the wall. When the curse was lifted and he could breathe once more, his father approached him.

“You can wait here, Potter, and let us worry about Draco. I assure you that soon enough you will see him here with us, and you could tell him all about the wonderful things you’ve been up to in the meantime. That is, of course, if you are still alive by then.” He kicked him once, and Draco felt all the air flattening out of his chest. He tried his most enraging smile.

“I’m not worried,” he said, only a little weakly. “I’m sure Draco will be very happy to see me.” He laughed a little, knowing his father will not understand why, and that it will drive him mad.

“You are one strange boy,” was all Lucius said, and then he retired back to the other Death Eaters. Draco felt himself rising to the air again and thrust into the corner of the room, where someone conjured a makeshift cage out of wire that looked more fit for a medium-sized dog than for a person. Draco was forced into it with a harsh shove, then it clung shut with a terrible metallic screech. He was startled when someone poked him in the eye from outside the bars.

“Just you wait,” Bellatrix spoke very softly, and he could barely hear her above the general uproar in the room. “Just you wait until He gets here. You will pay for all you’ve done to my master. He will make you pay.”

Somehow hearing this calmed him down. Being threatened became sort of his norm this past year, and the thing about threats is, the more you hear, the less effective they become. “I hope he has change,” he murmured back to her. “Because I only have big notes. Get it?” he laughed until she shot a curse that made his jaw lock. With a nasty grin she sent another spell that momentarily made his ears go aflame. The pain was terrible, and it kept growing worse, even after she put him out. He hoped it wouldn’t be long lasting, though how long he thought he would last at all, he didn’t know. It certainly won’t be the worst thing he’d have to endure before it will all end.

However, Draco did not despair. He did not feel sorry for himself, did not feel depressed or scared. If anything, he was elated. Over the moon with joy. Sure, in his current position he couldn’t much express it, but he was happy. He got his mother out, and Harry was back in the castle safe with Weasley and Granger. It was just like the boy had promised him; he really didn’t have to choose between Harry and his mother anymore. He really could have them both. If he’d known all he had to do for it was to sacrifice himself, he would have done this a long time ago.

The thought that they actually managed – that they really got her away, that Harry is really safe and sound, out of this terrible place – there was nothing else that mattered to him at the moment. He did not worry about himself. Like he told Harry before, he was already dead. He deserved nothing better, anyway. That awful, horrible night when he had to make a decision – when he thought he couldn’t possibly survive having to do it, when he thought his heart will break and catch fire and bring down the whole castle – well, he was partially right. The castle did not come crashing down, but his heart did stop. He did not, in fact, survive that night.

In order to make a decision, he had to kill a part of himself; he had to take a knife and slash mercilessly within his own soul. What he had to have done – for there really was no other choice, he knew that now – was fatal. From the moment he understood what really was at stake, he knew he was doomed. And he had to do it knowing Harry would hate him... Still, his life meant everything not just to Draco, but to the whole world. So Draco did what he had to do and carved himself open. He gave himself up and smothered his own soul with his two bare hands. So whatever it is they will do to him now will not really matter. He could take the pain, he could handle the fear. And when he dies, for certainly at some point soon it will have to come to this, he will go away gladly. Before he thought he will die in terrible unrest, his heart bleeding and his soul tormented forever. But now he was saved. He was freed. He could die serenely, in peace. This was all he could have wished for.

Draco closed his eyes and waited for the torture to resume.

***

Harry’s head was still spinning out of control when the world widened from the tight black hole and the kitchen emerged in front of his bewildered eyes. It was impossible that they were able to get out of there, absolutely unbelievable… his heart was beating a hundred miles a minute. Panting, crouching with two hands on his knees, Harry looked around. The house-elves were all in disarray, running wildly and shouting, carrying large trays full of what presumably was medicine. Nearer to him were the two desolate faces of Ron and Hermione, back to their own bodies, and the stunned image of Narcissa Malfoy. None of them spoke for a minute.

“We have to go back,” Ron said, the first to recover. “We have to go back now.”

“We can’t, Ron,” Hermione breathed, exasperated. “You know very well we can’t.”

“But Hermione, he – he – “ Ron shook his head, unable to proceed. Harry knew what he meant.

“He faked the whole thing,” he continued his friend’s sentence, rubbing his eyes which still stung a little from the smoke. “He pretended to betray us so that he could… take our place. So he could get us out of there.” The silence grew even deeper in the little bubble the four of them were in.

“They are going to kill him,” Ron’s voice broke with desperation. “Harry, if we don’t do anything, they are going to bloody kill him.”

“We don’t know for sure they didn’t already,” Hermione said in a pained little whisper. “Listen, I know how you feel, I really do. But… if we go back there then everything he’s done, all he sacrificed, it would all be for nothing. Please, tell me you understand that?”

Harry felt a little tap on his knee and brought his eyes up from the floor to meet Dobby’s huge green ones. “Mr. Draco told Dobby to go, Harry Potter. He said to go and get his friends out of there, and not to let them return no matter what Harry Potter says. Dobby is sorry. Dobby is very-very sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Harry tried to comfort him, but his voice was robotic and harsh. “You’ve done brilliantly, Dobby. You should go and get that sorted, now,” he gestured towards the hole in Dobby’s shirt, undoubtedly caused by Draco’s spell. Dobby gave them all a little bow and disappeared in the sea of frantic house-elves.

“My son…” Narcissa said, and Harry straightened up to look at her. The silvery eyes were nearly torn, so wide and desperate they looked in the light of the fire. “My son…” Ron, with the instincts of a truly great Quidditch player, caught her right before she hit the floor. He sat her down gently on a stool a house elf brought over and she leaned on the large table behind her for support. She looked painfully weak.

“We have to think of a plan,” Harry said, and he was just unable to look at her. “We have to find a way – maybe they don’t know it’s not me yet, maybe Voldemort isn’t there still – “

“What do you mean?” Hermione asked.

“Before he sent us away – you didn’t see? He took the remainder of the Polyjuice potion. He took it with my hair in it, to distract them. When we left, they thought he was me.”

The silence was even thicker now. The three teenagers looked at each other, speechless. Ron cleared his throat. “He really… wow. I never – I mean, I thought he was – I just can’t believe we fell for that so easily. We should have known better. We _did_ know better, but we somehow… forgot.”

“It’s not your fault,” Harry said, feeling like he’s stuck in some nightmarish loop. “He had to be believable, otherwise they never would have let him near us. He had time to think of what to do in that case, I suppose… we left him up there in the Room of Requirement to formulate his little plan…” he didn’t know why he was so furious. After all, Draco did all this for him, to save his life and his mother’s. He warned him he will do it, too. He made him promise… without realizing he was doing it, Harry clenched his hands into fists. The bloody idiot.

“We just can’t go back there without raising their alarms,” Hermione said, rubbing her head nervously. “If only there was a way – but Dobby can’t take us back to the drawing room, it is far too dangerous, they will see us right away…” she started circling them all, and Harry could only watch her. He was about to say he did not care at all, that he would go there even if he was sure to die, but he thought better of it. What would be the point for them all to die there? And if he went, Ron and Hermione are sure to come with him. He’d already thought he lost them today – that he caused their certain and surely horrible death – and he cannot do it again. And also, somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew Hermione was right. If Draco knew they came back for him and got captured, it would kill him. He was so focused on Hermione’s steps, he did not notice Narcissa getting back to her feet.

“Let me go,” she said resolutely, and all three heads turned to her with surprise. Hermione ceased her pacing. “I am meant to be there, they will be expecting me. Let me go and see what I can do for him.”

Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath before replying. He did not want to be rude to her, but now was really not the time for any distractions. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Malfoy, but… it didn’t seem like there is much you can get away with in that castle. Not with Bellatrix and your husband there, anyway.”

She looked crestfallen, but she nodded. It was evident she was struggling to remain upright. “Ever since Lucius returned things have been more… difficult, yes.”

“In that case, I really don’t see what you can do for him. They would just put you back in their custody and he will have to watch them get you after all that, too.” He sighed. “Mrs. Malfoy, everything Draco did today was in order to save you. He will not be able to live with himself if he knew anything happened to you. You staying here is the best thing you can do for him.” Saying these words actually hurt him right in his chest, for he knew the same thing was true about himself as well. But it’s not the same, he argued in his head, pleaded almost. He can still fight… He can take them by surprise… It will be an entirely different thing for him to go than for her.

“I just don’t get it – how did they know it was you? what alarm was there – oh,” Hermione broke off mid-speech, rubbing her neck absently. “Yes, of course… it was a blood spell, wasn’t it?” Narcissa nodded, looking sullen but remaining silent. “Draco got a scratch on his arm… I got a cut too… Harry, before the alarm went off and you were found, did you by any chance get wounded?”

He thought about it for a second. Then… “Yes, I did! I got a papercut from the letter!” he produced the sheet of paper from his pocket. “Do you think this was somehow to do with the alarm?”

“There must be a spell that makes every intruder shed blood in the castle,” Hermione explained with a disgusted look. “This way they can learn who exactly enters… and have specific wards against wizards whose presence they wish to exclude. Voldemort would have your blood in him, too, so it won’t be too hard to set it up.”

“I got scratched too,” Ron added a little defensively, holding out his finger. Hermione gave him a smile and put a hand on his shoulder.

“And then once your identity was verified, they were alerted by – the fire!” Hermione exclaimed, tone heating up again. “That must be it. When we first entered the castle, the fire in the drawing room was unlit. But when we left, it was!”

“Yeah, and for a second before they all started talking about it, the fire went green!” Ron agreed animatedly.

“That must have been the sign that it was you! Oh, that is very clever… terribly sick and extremely clever. The real question, then, is how do we get past it?” the three looked at each other, each face more lost than the others. They had no way of returning to that castle without setting off the alarms, even if Dobby would agree to take them back. What could they do, then? And do they even have the time? The Polyjuice potion would wear off soon enough, and the Death Eaters will realize they don’t have Harry Potter in their hands. Will Voldemort arrive there by then and kill him before they make that discovery? And if he doesn’t – will they keep him alive, once they find out who he really is? Harry’s heart lurched painfully inside him.

“We have to go to Dumbledore,” Ron said finally, hands shooting to the air. “He can help us. He is the only one who can.”

“He won’t do a thing,” Harry said, trying to keep his bitterness at bay, perhaps not so successfully. “He doesn’t care. When Mrs. Malfoy was there he didn’t do squat to help her, did he? He would just get mad at us for even going in the first place.”

“Harry, you don’t know that… You don’t know how he’ll react before you try him. Come on, I thought you trusted him?”

The fury and confusion inside him were enough without having to consider this question. “He will never let me go back there, Hermione. He will not even let me think about it. And the last thing I need right now is more reasons not to go.”

“You know that is the right thing to do,” the girl insisted. “You know you cannot go back. Not like this. Harry, please… we have to talk to him, to ask for his help. Please. I know it’s hard for you, that you always want to do everything on your own, but… this is for Draco. And if we don’t act now, he will be dead.”

Harry’s eyes shot daggers at her. “Are you trying to say I don’t care enough about him to keep my ego out of it?”

“No, it’s not that at all … I know you care more about him than about almost anything. This is precisely why we have to go to Dumbledore.” Her pleading tone melted the last defenses in his heart. Broken he turned to his other best friend.

“What do you think?” he spat towards him.

Ron took a second to think about it. “I reckon she’s right. Dumbledore’s the only chance we have to get him out of there with all of us alive. And the clock is ticking…” he gave Harry a determined look. “We got to go now, mate.”

Exasperated and angry beyond his senses, Harry agreed. He let the other two take the lead while he offered his hand to Narcissa, who looked even more in shambles than him, a fact which softened his approach a little. “Come with us, Mrs. Malfoy. Dumbledore will find you a place to stay until all this is over. He promised Dra- he promised him, a long time ago.” She took his hand and looked into his eyes. She must have known how he felt.

“Potter… I know you said my son needs me. That might be true, but he needs you as well, perhaps even more. Keeping you safe is just as much for his sake, as it is for your own. I could see it in him today.” Her eyes burned right through him. What more was there to do now? He pulled her away from the busy kitchen and into the corridor in a half-mad dash, his heart beating even faster than before; _Dra-co, Dra-co, Dra-co…_

***

The Death Eaters weren’t going all out; the cage was rather small and didn’t allow much room for really extravagant moves. Draco was subjected to some painful curses in the past, so he knew fairly well what to expect, and so far they weren’t exceeding it. He knew, of course, that once the Dark Lord arrives the level is going to increase substantially. Perhaps to such height he would no longer be able to stand; at some point he lost track and could no longer care. The time was running out for the potion anyway. Somewhere in him he wondered what was taking so long, why He wasn’t here yet. The majority of him was focused on drawing one breath at a time.

The noise in the room kept growing louder and louder, so much so that he could actually register it beyond the high-pitched ringing sound in his ears. He gave it no mind at first, although it did disturb him on some level. He did not like the way he was being looked at, either. Being in this cage made him feel like an animal in a zoo. He remembered the story Harry once told him about the snake he unleashed on his cousin before he was eleven. Thinking again about Harry safe in the castle, Draco could relax. He closed his eyes and shut himself off completely. Let them do what they want; it did not matter. As long as Harry and his mother were fine. 

At some point Draco felt himself dragged out of the cage and brought up to standing. He wobbled a little on his feet, but did his best to remain upright; this was a matter of honor as well. He did not want to portray a picture of a weak, frightened Harry. He owed it to him to be brave right now.

“Are you sure?” Snape’s familiar voice managed to pierce through the haze of pain and confusion. Draco tried hard to focus his eyes on the face in front of him which was currently swimming. “Are you absolutely certain it’s the boy?”

“You should have heard him,” his father’s cold voice joined, and now Draco could see him too. They brought him to the corner of the room, furthest away from the crowd that gathered close to the fire, perhaps for inspection before presenting him to their Lord. Draco tried to scoff at them, to say something brave and stupid like Harry would, but his tongue simply would not listen to him. “He is cocky all right. Seemed to think he was quite the fighter. Almost as if he’s not aware he’s just a sad little boy.”

The insult to Harry did what his frazzled mind couldn’t; Draco regained the ability to speak. “I may be that,” he spat, “but at least I don’t need twenty people to fight one person tied and beaten. Let alone just a _little boy._ ”

“Quiet now, Potter,” Lucius said tersely. “We shall deal with you in a minute. The Dark Lord will show you the true meaning of respect.”

“Yeah,” Draco’s mind was spinning slightly and he leaned against the wall for support, “he’s a real champ, isn’t he? So respectable. Having all his men here to fight one wandless teenager. Sounds like a frightening man.”

“I said shut it,” his father said dangerously. “I am growing tired of your relentless tirade, boy. Perhaps I should cut off your tongue and rid us all of it once and for all.”

“Perhaps you should,” Draco smirked. He heard the slap more than felt it; his face still was numb from the curses that were set on him beforehand.

“Lucius! You know our orders; we are to keep him contained, not to harm him too much before – “

“Yes, yes, Severus, I’m well aware.” Draco understood now why the Death Eaters were letting him have it so easy until now. So being Harry saved him in a way, made it not so bad... Who would have thought? Of course, all that will only last until He arrives.

Another person joined their little group; from height alone Draco surmised it was Wormtail. He didn’t have Harry’s glasses, and it was even harder to see past his swollen eyelids. “We’ve just finished the rounds, Lucius. They are not in the castle.”

“Are you quite sure?” Lucius asked.

“Yes. We checked every single room, they’re nowhere to be seen.”

“Not in Hogsmeade either,” a new voice said, and Draco couldn’t help but stiffen a little; he would never get used to that raspy quality in Greyback’s voice. He closed his eyes; better than seeing a blurry image of the werewolf was not seeing him at all. “Canvassed the entire town. I don’t know where they apparated to, Lucius, but it wasn’t there.”

“But they couldn’t have gone directly into the school,” his father said in his usual quiet, angry voice. “That’s impossible, you can’t apparate in and out of Hogwarts. They must have – what is it, Fenrir?”

There was a pause in the conversation. Draco opened his eyes a crack; he could see all the men looking at Greyback, who was sniffing the air a little oddly. “Something doesn’t add up,” he said to general confusion. “No, something’s not right.”

“Whatever do you mean?” Lucius demanded impatiently.

“The smell. I can smell Potter still, but…” he sniffed again and shook his head. “That’s bizarre. Something’s off with the smell.” Draco closed his eyes again. He may have less time than he anticipated.

“Are you ever going to explain yourself, or will you just continue vexing us for much longer?”

“I don’t think that’s Harry Potter,” was what the werewolf finally said.

“What? How do you know?” Snape sounded very disturbed.

“The scent. I can still detect some of Potter’s smell from when he was here earlier, so that confused me a little, but… no. The boy here is definitely not him. It is a familiar scent, though.”

“Familiar?” Wormtail’s wheezy voice asked.

“Yes, familiar. I’ve smelled it before. Quite a bit of it too, actually. I never forget a scent, but this is one I know pretty well.”

“Can you elaborate?” Lucius asked coolly.

“Yeah, I can. I don’t think you’re going to like it too much, though.”

There was a long and tense silence. “You don’t mean to say…”

“Sorry to have to break it to you, but, yes.” Another silence.

Draco decided this was the moment to be brave and let his eyes open. He put on a little smile, which was slightly lopsided due to the way his lips were swollen on the one side. “I’m sorry, Father.” His smile widened when he registered the look of total shock on the pale face before him. “Hate to disappoint you again, but… well. At least you were right about me being here. I hope it makes you feel better.”

“ _Draco_?” Lucius was too astounded to say anything else for a minute. Then Draco felt him grab his hair and pull him forwards, with such force he heard some strands rip. “What – but how – _what did you do, boy_?”

“I’m afraid you’ve been duped,” Draco said as calmly as he could. “No one to blame but yourself, really.” Lucius let go of him or rather threw him towards the floor, hard. Draco hit it and sat back up, rubbing his head. “That’s not very sportsman-like, Father.”

“Is there a way to make sure?” Lucius asked with some desperation. “Is there a way to ensure we know who this is?” Snape nodded.

“Finite incantatum,” he whispered and performed a swirling motion with his wand. Draco felt the familiar melting of his skin as his body returned to its normal form. Once the pain blew over he could see the room around him in sharper detail, no longer needing Harry’s broken glasses, though the black eye still got in the way.

Slowly he got back to his feet. Snape, Greyback, Wormtail and his father stood around him, all wearing a rather similar expression of shock. He would have found it funny if he had any energy left in him. Behind them he could see the other Death Eaters, who were beginning to realize something was wrong. He heard the urgent whispers and felt the atmosphere in the room changing. From festive and ecstatic to fearful and bewildered. He was almost happy. This had to have been worth it, making all these men he hated so much react in such a manner.

“You seem disappointed,” Draco noted politely. “Am I not what you were expecting to have tonight?”

Another slap nearly sent him to the wall; he grabbed himself just in time. “You have crossed the line,” his father said in a voice so soft it was nearly a whisper. “You have really, really crossed the line this time.”

“Oh no. I was so looking forward to receiving the ‘Death-Eater-of-the-month’ award.” He could have smiled if it wasn’t for the rumbling of nausea in his gut and the knowledge that pain was so nearby.

“Draco,” Snape breathed, “What have you done?” Draco would have been touched by the real concern in his voice had he been able to breathe, for in the next second another spell hit him and he fell to the floor once more, writhing and yelling. Well, the jig is up, he told himself as soon as he could think again. Now it is really coming. He buried his face in his hands on the floor and took a deep breath.


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More torture. Anguish. Pain. Yuck.

There was a short and underwhelming break in the pain which Draco was almost unable to appreciate, being that his whole body was on fire. Quite literally, too; the flames engulfed him and he could actually sense his skin melting like wax and dripping off him, his flesh crackling and bubbling in the insufferable heat. His last thought was a wonder over how he’s still able to think. Then he wasn’t.

When he was put out, it took him some time to be able to decipher the words that flew over his head. The men were whispering in angry hisses. Draco thought he should know what’s got them all riled up, but at this point he couldn’t tell. He couldn’t care, either. The burns in his arms and legs were deep and throbbing, and his head was spinning with the smoke that came off his own flesh. He almost didn’t notice being lifted in the air and brought to standing in front of his father. “Tell me now," the man said quietly, “And this will all be over. Tell me, Draco, and you will be done.”

The temptation was almost too hard to bear; he could have wished for nothing more than this exactly, to rest, to be done. He coughed and tried to catch his breath. “I already told you,” he said, or at least tried to say. his vocal cords were singed and his voice was a little less than a croak.

“He’s not at the school, you stupid boy. Tell me where he is, _now_. You do not want to push this much further, my son. You’re in no state for it already, and soon He will be upon us. Tell me what I want to hear.”

Draco opened his eyes, he had no choice. He didn’t even know they were shut beforehand; his senses were all over the place. He tested his face and was pleased to learn the muscles there still worked. However comforting it was to be in Harry’s body, it was a relief to be himself again. His was just such a better face for wearing a smirk.

“I don’t know,” he said, and could not have been more glad for it being the truth. He knew there was no chance for him to stand against his father’s torments for long; any information he might have tried to conceal would be clawed right out of him, if not by Lucius then by the Dark Lord. But to his knowledge, Harry was back at the castle. A fleeting thought concerned him – why wasn’t his father accepting this simple fact? But he hurried to dismiss it. Lucius was just hoping that he could bring a different answer to his master. What he said was accurate; Draco will be tortured until he says what his father _wants_ to hear.

“Draco, this is no laughing matter. The Dark Lord’s arrival is imminent. Please, you have to think fast.” Snape’s voice was supported by the wild look in his eyes. Draco knew him for many years now, and never would have imagined the Potions Master is even able to look like this. It was such an odd mixture of fear, anger and… sorrow? Draco shook his head.

“I already said. He’s at the castle. Sorry to disappoint you.” That’s what he wanted to say; the words that actually came out of his mouth might have been slightly different due to his throat seizing up in the middle of the sentence.

“Lucius, there’s no point – he doesn’t know anything, and we have no time – “

“Let me try,” Greyback’s hoarse cry would have frightened him stiff any other day, but right now Draco accepted it with a smile. What could the werewolf possibly do to him that would be worse? He would have laughed if his insides weren’t solid.

Too fast, the big hands were on him and the vile breath in his ear. “You will tell me, won’t you, boy? We are so very close, after all.” Draco felt Greyback’s hand sliding down his body, and was unable to suppress the wild shaking that overtook him. He closed his eyes – better not to see – but a sound from behind the men brought the entire room to a halt.

“I see that once more, my followers have disappointed me.”

A cry; Draco could see in his mind’s eye Bellatrix running and disposing herself at the tall man’s feet. “Master, please – they tricked us, Potter and his friends – “

“Quiet,” the cold voice said, and she hushed immediately. Greyback let go of Draco, who staggered a little on his feet but fought to stay up. This was it, now. He ran out of time. With a little groan, he opened his eyes.

His father, Snape, Greyback, all the Death Eaters in the room looked like someone cast a freezing spell on them. No one moved, no one said a word. Only the tall figure, very slim and dressed in a jet-black cloak, looked alive. His face was covered by the hood, but red eyes glimmered even from within it. Draco realized he was so scared, he did not actually feel the fear anymore, just this weird numbness. He gasped with relief. He would hate to have died a coward.

“Lucius,” the Dark Lord said as he arrived to the little group standing at the edge of the room. “You have summoned me here. You said you had something which I long desired to obtain.”

“We did, my Lord,” Lucius’s whisper was barely audible. “We had Harry Potter in our hands less than an hour ago.”

“And what happened?” the smooth voice made Draco’s skin crawl, at least the part of it he still had intact. He didn’t want to look directly at him, for when he did his knees almost buckled, so he looked at his father instead.

“My son got in the way,” Lucius said evenly, and Draco wasn’t even surprised. He told Harry long ago; he always knew his father would not hesitate to hand him over to be used as cover. Right now, in the total mess that was left of him, Draco hardly even felt the pain. Lucius didn’t seem remotely upset. Draco would not have expected him to.

“In the way, you say?” the Dark Lord turned his red eyes on him, and Draco could feel his gaze like fire licking his torn skin. He was already burning in those red eyes, already smoked to ashes. He straightened up as much as his body would allow and forced himself to look at the cloaked figure directly.

“Sorry about that,” he said as lightly as he could. He heard Snape’s stunned gasp as if from a huge distance.

“Draco,” the Dark Lord said, and that was it for him; he could no longer say anything snide or sarcastic. He would probably not be able to speak ever again. “You have disappointed me greatly. And here I thought I might have actually found success in you.” He sent a pale hand to touch Draco’s face. His touch was the opposite of his look; frozen talons of death. Draco shook himself into action with bravery found only when death is absolutely certain.

“You thought wrong,” he whispered, or rather cawed. There were more gasps around them.

“It appears I have,” the man did not sound at all offended. “May this be a lesson to you, young one. Even the greatest do sometimes err. The real question is how they proceed.”

It took effort, but Draco was on his last leg anyway, so he was able to look into his eyes, into that flame of madness in them. “You’ll never get him,” he said, and it was almost easy.

“Let me assure you,” Voldemort said with a touch of a grin, “that I will. And you, Draco Malfoy, would help me do just that.”

“I will never,” he cried from between his teeth, as pain that was almost out of this world made it impossible to remain standing. Writhing on the floor, he brought his head up, face scrunched up with hate. “I will never serve you.”

“Perhaps you won’t,” the Dark Lord said evenly and removed his hood, casting his glance on the room. “But it does not mean I cannot find use for you, regardless.” His smile was more awful than his fury, but Draco could no longer see it; he could barely manage not to scream out loud. “The last thing you will see on this earth, young Draco, would be your friend defeated by me. After that I will grant you my mercy once more and allow you to die. Before then – “ he gestured with his hand, and someone grabbed Draco and propped him up with some difficulty. What happened later he did not know, because he lost consciousness and fell into the dark patches in the corners of his eyes.

***

He did what he could, but there was nothing to hold on to as the world tipped over and sideways, coming to a wobbly rest on its head. Draco flailed and screamed and cried, but there was nothing to it. he was gone, long gone, and now was the time after never.

He tried to resist the invasion for as long as he could, keeping those precious and fragile memories to himself, trying to lose them even. He didn’t have much left in him, having drained most of the memories in the very handy Pensive the Room of Requirement provided him; still the things they managed to carve out of him, out of the deepest parts of his soul, were incriminating enough. They had enough information to reach Harry… enough information to try and trap him. _He will see right through this,_ Draco thought desperately as he fell down the rabbit hole of pain and horror. _He will not be fooled so easily_. But hope was slippery and his hands were full of tremendous misery, so he could not keep it for long. They will catch him at some point, they always do. They will catch Harry and the world will end and everything good that ever existed in it will die. Despair was almost comforting in this terrible limbo he was cornered at, while his body was still harassed and violated. Don’t they see it’s futile? It meant nothing now, his body, his physical presence. His soul was out there too, and it was already gone; he didn’t even have the chance to say a proper farewell. And now he was falling, falling, falling… it will never end. He will be in this nightmare forever. He could never wish to escape, for there was no escape, not for him. He was doomed. Pain beyond pain, agony beyond reason, paralyzing fear – everything was far, far too much. And then he opened his eyes and it was somehow even worse.

Amplified a thousand-fold in his ears he could hear a cold laughter. ‘Thank you, Draco. That took longer than I had expected – you showed some grit there, boy. It is such a shame we will not be able to make a Death Eater out of you after all.’ Gods, this was terrible; the words were both inside him and outside, coming from within him yet against him. it was being used, but in the worst sense he ever felt. He tried to shake it off, but his body was not responding anymore, and in any case up was down and nothing was real. He gave an infinite sigh and rolled onto the next torture.

At some point he lost it completely and was separated from himself. There was not much consolation in this state, for even when his body was unaware, his soul was tarnished by the terror and was still shivering in a metaphysical black hole. The strain was too much for him to bear, yet he came to again and again, only to fall back into unconsciousness. The action of waking up in alarm to insurmountable pain and passing out again was energy consuming, but their curses were forcing him back up every time he fainted. If this was hell, he thought in a rare moment of lucidity, it was surely effective. Then he was unable to think again and sufficed with yelling as much as his throat allowed.

When he became aware again, there was a significant change. First he noticed he is able to feel his body, which was only a very small victory, as every part of it was submerged in excruciating pain. The second thing he noticed was he was no longer on the floor, but put on something soft – presumably a bed – somewhere in a closed room. The third thing he registered was he was alone.

Draco tried to breathe in relief, but it was impossible to exhale anything above a very small wheeze. His throat was closed shut and his lungs contracted painfully. Whatever it is they had done to him, they really overdid it. it was a small miracle he was able to breathe at all.

The next thing he tried to do was open his eyes, then immediately thought, _oh Gods, big mistake_. The room spun into a sickening spiral and everything was blurry and dark. For the longest time he could not even pick out a single detail of the world around him, and had serious concerns he was blind. But after a while the panic and shock died down a little, and he was able to discern some things. Draco saw the desk, heavily scratched, only slightly better off than the wardrobe which was almost ripped apart. Even the door was covered by long gashes made by large, sharp instruments. He knew what made them, but was unable to access the information at the moment. Most of the things he had known were resting beyond a thick wall of ice. He did not know if he would ever regain them. He did not know if he would have the time.

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, memories of the night returned to him. Although he did expect a savage attack, what he had gone through was far beyond his wildest assumptions. He never would have thought they would take it _this_ far, partly because he did not think it humanly possible to endure as much as he had. In every aspect possible he wished he hadn’t. Being dead would be so far preferable to where he was now. To be alive only meant more of it was underway, and Draco knew with frightening clarity he could not take a fraction more. This was so, so far above his threshold. He willed his heart to stop beating right here and there, to just drop in his chest and extinguish. Oh, if only that was possible. Draco couldn’t stop the frantic tears from running down his grimy cheeks.

The parts of his skin that hadn’t melted off were tingling with the residues of the multiple curses set on his body. Draco tried to think of something, anything that wasn’t the blinding pain, but it was far too strong to allow anything else to cross his mind. Everything hurt; his legs were crushed into powder, his arms smashed into paste; his abdomen burned with sharp pain that made every breath so difficult. His head was constantly exploding at very small intervals, revealing spinning supernovas shattering into dust. His eyes, now opened, could no longer be closed, and were stinging and tearing up all the time. And his heart… if someone had taken it out of his body by sheer physical force, trod on it, brought a whole company of trolls to play hop-scotch on its ruins, dipped it in magma and very carelessly shoved it back into his chest, he would not have been surprised. It felt like that, only worse. He could not even tell himself how bad he was feeling, because his mind was tight and foggy. Not having words to describe the pain did nothing to diminish it. It was a tough, tough task to take each breath as it came.

He was not aware of the door opening, nor of the person who walked in, but he instantly felt the magic. For a second he froze completely, unable to stir an inch, but then he realized they were not torture spells. If he didn’t know any better, he would have thought they were healing him. and apparently he really didn’t know, because that was precisely what was happening. someone was casting healing spells on him. He could feel the effects so intensely, he passed out again; so far and wide was the reach of the magic, so deep inside him. when he woke up again he could breathe without feeling his larynx was aflame. Grateful and baffled beyond his senses, he opened his eyes.

Draco did not know what to expect, but he definitely did not expect his father. Lucius stood next to the bed, alone, looking at him with an expression Draco almost recognized. _Sympathy? Concern?_ What was it exactly? He was too exhausted to try and understand.

“How are you feeling, son?” Lucius asked, and it was all Draco could do not to laugh. He simply could not afford to spend so much energy at the moment.

“Terrific,” he whispered, relieved to discover that he can speak. Though it felt like crawling on hot lava, it was still possible.

“You could not have expected anything but this, Draco. To defy our Lord like that… to openly and intentionally betray him… what did you think the outcome of such madness could be?”

“I thought I will die,” Draco answered plainly. This was the only outcome he could foresee, from the very beginning when he decided to take Harry’s side. What else could have happened? Surely there was no other possibility.

“And you shall, very soon, if you do not take some immediate actions. Draco, he intends to kill you.”

With some effort, he looked up at his father’s face. The face that used to look so much like his own, that he had known so well, but now was completely different. He used to admire this man… to love him above anything in the world… he would have done anything, anything to win his approval… he let out a heavy set of coughs. “And you care?”

There was a thick silence. “Of course I care, Draco. You are my son.”

He would have snorted, but he just didn’t have the strength for it. “And?”

“And? What do you mean, and?” Lucius sounded concerned, but it was above Draco’s power to care. He let his glance fall back to the midriff of the tall man, a small sigh escaping his lips.

“What difference does that make for you, now?” he was furious, and that was the only thing that enabled him to make such a long sentence. “You had no problem giving your son away to be tortured before. Is killing where you finally draw the line?”

Lucius made an annoyed gesture with his hands. “I tried to warn you, Draco, and you wouldn’t listen. What was I to do? stop Him? you know it is impossible.”

“Gods forbid you trying to stop your master from completely annihilating your only son.” Draco’s body started to tremble involuntarily, which irked him on some level, but he was too far from really caring. “You never – not once – since he returned – “ a fit of coughs prevented him from completing his argument. Lucius was kind enough to wait it out before replying.

“Perhaps I have not been the most affectionate, Draco, or the most patient. I know I have my faults. It may seem to you like in the year we spent apart I cared not, but, son – on every possible level – I always felt greatly towards you. I know this year was difficult for you, how much you’ve had to endure. I do know it. Please, believe me when I say this was not what I wanted for you.”

Draco listened to this with only little astonishment. He was too tired to feel any more than that. “It doesn’t matter what you wanted or how you felt, Father. Not anymore.”

“No, it does. Draco, please – I would hate it if you were to… I don’t want to lose this opportunity to entail to you how much I love and care for you. You are my only son, my only heir. You mean the world to me.”

Draco’s eyelids dropped to a half-close; is this the meaning of it all, then? “So you came to say goodbye?”

“No – not at all; I came so I won’t have to. I do not plan to let him kill you. I want to help you.”

It was too much of a stretch, and he was so weak. “Do not tease me, Father. I am in no state to bear it.”

“I assure you I am serious. If you let me help you, if you do as I say – Draco, I truly believe we can make it. Please, son, please listen to me. We have only but little time.”

Draco shook his head a fraction, which cost him a great deal of energy. “There is no way out of this for me. You know that. I know that. I am going to die here, and based on tonight, it will happen soon.”

“You don’t have to. Draco… there is a way I know, one that no one uses. With the help of some loyal friends, I can take you out of the bounds of this castle and into the custody of Dumbledore. We must make haste, now, before it is too late… if we are quick, we can spare your life tonight…”

Draco’s eyes opened a smidgen. Lucius bent towards him, his grey eyes wide with worry and urgency. Draco was too weak to think straight, and he simply could not understand. Was he serious? It was a little too much for a deathbed joke. Could Lucius really be trying to help him? “But who would help you?” he muttered with disbelief.

“Severus, naturally, who has been helping you all along. He cares much for you, he would not let you die… and your other friend, of course. Potter.”

“Potter?” his whisper was so low, Lucius bent even closer. “But how can he help?”

“He will come for you,” his father exclaimed quickly. “After all you have done for him – your sacrifice – Draco, you just need to reach out, and he will not hesitate to come, I am sure of it.”

“Reach out?” his heart was beating faster, his breathing shallower, but still he did not understand. This was everything he longed for all year, his father taking care of it, helping him… loving him… but this was just too much, and his mind was too fraught… “How?”

“You must know where he is, don’t you? You can write to him – I can use floo powder without being detected – we have a small window of opportunities here, and we must take it. I can arrange for a safe passage for him here, and once I divert their attention, Severus can sneak you off with Potter – he has been assisting you till now, has he not?”

Draco felt like he should be getting it, but he still wasn’t. What was it, that scream on the tip of his tongue, right behind that curtain in his mind? What was he not realizing? “But the wards, they will know when he comes in, won’t they?”

“Not if I suspend them! I have this power – Draco, we can do this if you act fast!” the look in his eyes was disconcertingly warm. “My son, you don’t have to die tonight. We can save your life!”

He did not believe it, could not believe it. “Would you really do that for me?” It was almost embarrassing, this childish question, this disbelief; but it was nevertheless there. To think of his father taking this risk on his behalf was… highly improbable. Yet here he was in front of him, all warm and affectionate like he never was – _like he never was_ – there they went again, those alarm bells that he just could not make sense of. What, what were they trying to tell him?

“Of course I would. Draco, I love you. I would do anything for you.”

“But all this time – you let me be punished, hurt, all year, and before that – “

Lucius looked so sad, Draco actually stopped. “I have been a coward, I’m afraid. But Draco, you were so strong, so brave. I never had the chance to tell you how proud I was of you.” He paused for a second, giving this statement its proper weight, and Draco felt it drop on him like an anvil. “Draco, I am so sorry.”

 _Sorry_? His father is saying he is _sorry_? Draco could only stare for a second. Then it hit him, in full and in his face and he just could not believe himself, how stupid he was, how terribly idiotic. Was he nothing but a child, so naïve and falling for the most obvious, crudest sort of manipulation? He would not have believed himself to be so gullible. There was only his weak physical state to blame for that. ‘You’re sorry?’ he asked, in a tone of voice that was far less shaky.

“So very sorry. Truly, I am. Everything that happened to you because of me… I wish I was a better father to you, but I can only try and do better from now on. Draco, I hope you accept my apology. That would mean everything to me.”

There was something very bitter in his mouth. “What exactly are you sorry for, Father?”

“Everything.” Lucius seemed so sincere, Draco had to acknowledge his act. It was truly spectacular. “Greyback at the Manor over the summer, I know all he did to you was directly my fault… the task the Dark Lord gave you only to punish me – the torture he inflicted upon you… I am truly so sorry for all of that.”

“And Mother?” Draco added innocently.

“Certainly, I am so sorry for what’s happened to her too. Bellatrix and Greyback and everything she had to endure.”

“And before all that – what of the times you used me as your own designated cloth to wipe your sword with?”

Lucius swallowed heavily. “I was merely trying to teach you, son. Perhaps my methods were not conventional – “

“Is it conventional to slash heavily into your opponent when you have the upper hand, then burn them with a spell when they have it? or to fight a bound, blindfolded child who has been sleep deprived and starved, left shackled in the garden through a thunderstorm?” Draco was getting quite heated; rage in a level he didn’t think he’s capable of at the moment made his vision extra clear and his heart beat even faster. Lucius trying to trick him, caring nothing for him… it was familiar, and so likely, yet he resented it with a vengeance. Lucius seemed like he wanted to retaliate, but the look in the silvery eyes made him change his mind.

“No, you are right. I was unjust and unkind to you then, I’ll admit it. it was wrong of me to go to these lengths. But believe me, son, I only ever tried to get you stronger… braver… better.”

Draco took a moment. He was so angry, it was hard to think clearly. But still, this was a rare opportunity, too rare to miss out. “So you are sorry for that?”

“Incredibly sorry.”

“Are you sorry for breaking my arms and legs that Christmas and making me crawl through the Manor _as a lesson?_ ”

Lucius took a second before answering this time. “Yes, of course, I regret that. I appreciate that sometimes I could have exaggerated a little, taken it too far. Yes… I apologize for that.”

“And what about the time you said my hair looked girly?”

Lucius’s voice was beginning to betray some annoyance. “I am sorry for that too. Draco, please – I know you are in a lot of pain right now, but we must hurry. If you do not get Potter here on time, I’m afraid I can’t stall the Dark Lord for much longer…”

Draco let his eyelids flutter a little in anguish. “I do not know, Father, that it is possible. Perhaps it is better just to give it up.”

“No! son – we have only this opportunity, or you will die! Do you not understand? We have no time!”

In a pace that was sure to infuriate his father, Draco opened his eyes and turned his head a millimeter towards him with an expression of morose acceptance. “Perhaps it would be better to die,” he said heavily.

“Don’t say that… come on, we do have a chance, you must believe it – have faith, son!” Lucius was imploring him in a way that was highly amusing, had Draco been able to feel amusement atop the immeasurable pain and the bewildering anger.

“It hurts too much,” Draco grunted dramatically, rolling his eyes. “I cannot move a finger. It would be better if you were just to leave here, cut your ties with me. This way he wouldn’t punish you too. Save yourself, Father…” he let his voice falter into nothing.

“I will not! I do not care what he will do to me – you are my son, and I will do whatever it is that I can to save you! Do you hear me? I will not let you die here without knowing I did everything I could!”

“But you might die too,” Draco suggested thoughtfully. Lucius moaned.

“So I shall die! It matters not anymore. Please, Draco, you must hurry up…”

”I cannot. I am sorry, Father, for failing you once more. We shall meet in the great beyond, I am sure.” Were he just a little bit less miserable, Draco would have enjoyed this little performance immensely.

Lucius expelled a loud noise that was somewhere between a grunt and an exclamation of anger. “You are not thinking straight – please, Draco, please…”

He tried to laugh, but it only came out as a dry cough. It was the exact reverse of a very familiar situation. Only usually, he was the one begging… “Do you truly mean it, Father? You love me? You would die for me?”

Had he not been careful, he would have missed the little sigh of aggravation. “Of course I will, Draco. Of course I do. I love you more than anything else in the world.”

“And you really are sorry for everything?”

“For goodness sake – yes, _yes_ , I am sorry! I am sorry I was ever mean to you, or neglected you in any way, or made you feel bad – Draco, if you do not take action now, this will be the last thing I could ever say to you. Please try and get up, you must help me. Without your help I could never get Potter, and without him, you are doomed.”

“I believe I am doomed either way,” Draco offered pensively. “I have only one question, though.”

“Yes? What is it, son?”

“Did you really think I would fall for such a tired ruse, or did you hope I am wiped out enough to completely forget myself?” Draco shot his father a look of contempt. “You were never sorry for anything in your life. And to think that you would risk it for mine is just absurd. Had I not known you for seventeen years I may have thought it true, but please… that was a ravishing performance, though. Extra points to you for that.” He would never have been able to say so much if he weren’t so outraged, but there it was, plainly put in the air between them.

“What do you mean by that, son?”

“Please, there is no reason to continue with this desperate act. I know what it is you are trying to do, and you are wasting your time. I have no more clue where Harry is than I did when you tortured me, a thing which I would have thought your dear Lord would know by now. Was he not able to harvest all the information out of me yet, then?” Draco tried to smile, but his lips were puffy and his face hurt too much.

Lucius altered his expression so quickly, it made Draco a little dizzy to see. “You could reach out to him still, I am sure. He is your little boyfriend, is he not? He would come to your rescue in a second if he thought he had a chance.”

Revulsion fought the exhaustion in his body. “So you know.”

“Oh, I know many things I wished I hadn’t. Really, Draco, the level to which you stooped was shameful. I never would have imagined it possible for you to humiliate yourself like that. I was appalled.”

“Funny,” Draco said from between his teeth, “I would have thought that a father watching his son utterly decimated for hours by his work mates is somewhat more appalling than that.”

Lucius smiled, and all expressions of stress left his face without a trace. “You know they are not nearly done yet, Draco. Whatever it is you think is coming up… you are going to receive far, far worse than even that. Why not cut the suffering in half, son? Why not, for once in your life, help yourself?”

“There is no point in that,” Draco spat and closed his eyes. The vague threat wasn’t as frightening as the calm tone of voice his father took. Does he know, then, what they plan to do with him? and is it vicious enough to satisfy his lord?

“It figures you’d think that. Always a sad, frightened little quitter, aren’t you, boy? Oh, that time I had you crawling around the Manor… you would not stop crying for your mother, begging me to stop, to return your eyesight… oh, it really was a laugh. You hadn’t changed much since then, I see.”

That remark took the little air he had straight out of his chest in a huge gasp. For a second he was too stung to reply. “Neither have you. I shouldn’t be surprised, though. You know the old saying – once a sadistic evil psychopath, always a sadistic evil psychopath.” Even with his eyes nearly closed – they weren’t able to go all the way beyond his puffy eyelids – he could see the smile disappear from Lucius’s face.

“Listen to me, boy. You know as well as I that this could continue _forever_. They can torture you and heal you, torture and heal you, on and on, endlessly. Until nothing will remain of you to heal, until not a single shred of you lasts, they will keep going. _He_ will not be satisfied until you have given every last piece of information, until you have paid in every possible way. And you also know that in the end, it will not matter- you will not be able to resist Him.” Draco shuddered, because he knew it was true; this could go on with no end. He will be broken apart and reassembled, every day, every night, for the rest of his life… the thought made it impossible to speak. “You are the only one who can stop it, Draco. Bring Potter here and I promise you will not suffer as much. Bring Potter here and He will let you die immediately. This is the only way, the only thing you can do. bring Potter, or imagine the next ten years of absolute living hell. Did you think you suffered before? Did you think it was bad? You have no idea.” and with these words he left the room and locked the door behind him.

Draco stayed frozen with his mouth shut and his heart racing. He knew he will not be left to himself for much longer, and wished to find a shred of the resolve he once possessed. He knew with absolute certainty that he could not stand against their torture for long. How much time until he breaks and reveals all they want to hear? How much time before they are able to use him to get Harry? And until then, to be torn and sewn back together repeatedly… to suffer this and far, far worse… he fainted a few times before he was able to complete this thought out of pure fear.

What could he do? his father is correct. Soon enough he will have to cave to their demands. Physically, humanly, it will be impossible not to. With what they can do – with what they will do – the time would probably be very short before total annihilation. Shouldn’t he just do it now? As his father says, help himself, for once? If they get Harry, he had no doubt they would kill Draco, having no more use for him. So wouldn’t it be wiser to help them do it now, rather than spend days being tortured in the worst possible ways? Wouldn’t it be kinder towards everyone involved? Isn’t it the only possible choice for him?

He sank into despair, which looked and felt a lot like unconsciousness. He no longer wondered when would be the next time the door would open. Instead he opened his eyes in full to the darkness and inhaled deeply.


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: pretty graphic aftermath of torture. Threat of rape.

It had been some terrible days and nights since he declined his father’s offer. At least, he thought it had been; Draco had absolutely no sense of time. In fact, he had very little capability to think anything at all. He had seen the sun, perhaps, rise and fall; even if he did, he could not register it. everything was frazzled and blurry and agonizing. Every breath was torment. Even the thought of Harry and his mother being safe and away gave him no more pleasure, for he was simply unable to think about them. The Death Eaters harvested every single memory he had of Harry, and it was physically painful to try and think about him in his spare time. It was like poking inside a highly infected open wound inside himself. The more he thought of him, the further the prying reach into the wound; the more it bled and filled him up inside with bile and blood and wrong. So Draco tried to teach himself not to do it. Why torture himself, when there were so many others so willing to do it for him? he gave up thinking altogether.

There were, however, the times he was forced to think about him, and not only when they were invading his mind. Every so often Lucius would return with a piece of parchment and a quill, and suggest Draco to write a letter to Harry. “Just tell him to come, and we will relieve your pain,” he promised oh-so-sweetly. And Draco knew it was only a matter of time before he gives up, before he is unable to resist anymore, and wished so hard that the time came already. His wildest, biggest dream was exactly that; to give up. No more to fight this inconceivable pain, no more to stretch himself so thin. He was so, so tired, and so, so weak. Hours of screaming, pleading at the top of his voice, did him no favors. He was going to have to endure this for as long as he battled. And for some reason, he continued to resist. Draco did not know what it was. Surely it wasn’t his love or loyalty to Harry, for he could hardly even access it in his baffled brain. What was it, then, that kept him going? That made him submit himself to the most horrendous torture? He had not even the slightest idea. Was it perhaps his own disgust with his father, with the Dark Lord? His self-loathing? A promise he once made and now could hardly remember? Everything was possible just as it was impossible. But for the most part, this question did not bother him – for at the most part, he could not at all think. He just went on from moment to moment in semi-consciousness, hardly able to even breathe, doing the bare minimum that was just-enough to stay alive.

Usually when there was a significant decrease in the level of pain, his father would come to speak to him. Finding himself on the floor of the cell where they now kept him, naked and alone, he expected just that. With eyes that could hardly see anything, and not really because of the low light, Draco waited to spot the familiar form take place outside the bars. The dungeons in the castle had cells that felt a lot more like cages in a zoo than a prison; Draco felt much like a wild animal. The collar around his neck didn’t help – the one only Lucius or the Dark Lord could take off him with magic; it left him feeling branded, humiliated and desperate. He hated feeling owned.

All year he struggled with that. Well, in all honesty, he struggled with it for most of his life. His father sought to own him, which was something he always rebelled unconsciously against but only came to understand quite recently. Then it was You-Know-Who claiming him, then Harry taking over, and all in all, Draco had never really been his own. He never truly belonged to himself. whether a pawn in his father’s plans, a plaything for the Dark Lord or whatever it was Harry wanted from him, he always had to follow unquestioningly. Raising concerns was a main issue for all three of the men battling for pieces of his soul; the slightest trace of indiscretion, of disloyalty, was always heavily punished. Draco had been punished by the three of them by now, and it was hard to say which was worse. Sure, his father’s curses were the most personal, and hit the closest to home since he knew him best. And of course none could compare with the level of pain the Dark Lord could cause. But then the time when Harry hated him – when he ignored him all those weeks – and then that night in their Room when he made him strip and then hit him with the Cruciatus curse… Draco never really had time to delve into it, since he was so caught up with what _he_ had done wrong, and then was so overwhelmed by Harry’s return to consider it. But it was fairly cruel, all in all. Harry knew the entire year that Draco and everything he held dear were in his hands, and he must have known how much worse it made everything. And it was even a little more painful because it was his Harry, and Draco expected pain from the others, but not from him.

It hurt even worse now, especially as the mere name was making him gag, so thoroughly they scoured through his mind. Draco _couldn’t_ think about Harry, and it somehow made it impossible not to. He was alone in his cell-cage, and naked, and it was cold. Draco wanted nothing more than to curl into a ball and disappear. A tiny, miniature ball, too small to be noticeable. He wanted to be nothing.

It took him some time to be able to breathe normally again, then more time again until his heart went back to beating from behind his ribs and not the base of his throat. Draco tried to calm himself down, although it was useless, and he tried to take another look around. He didn’t expect to find a way to escape – he didn’t expect to be able to get anywhere very far – but lying here thinking about how bad it was surely to be was no good for him, and so he forced his aching body into a sitting position and opened his eyes even wider.

He could see, despite the low light and his general hysteria, the myriad of cell-cages just like his. _They must have been very popular_ , his mind quipped, and Draco wanted to slap himself to shut up, but his wrists were chained behind his back. Ah. He hadn’t noticed that before. Shackles – his ankles were attached to the wall behind him, and his wrists must have been fixed to some pole, because when he moved his shoulders he could hear the chain rattle against something metallic. Draco looked down at his body now. There was barely an inch of white skin there; every piece of him was bruised, burnt, torn open, or simply missing. There was a gaping hole in his hip where Greyback scraped a chunk of his flesh with his nails, and it was still bleeding profusely. His ankle was sprained, and both legs had fractures: his right shin was protruding from his flesh in a maddening white, and his left was twisted very awkwardly. Damn it, he shouldn’t have looked; now that he had, the pain only became that much worse. The feeling of a burning colony of rabid fire ants in his legs nearly drove him off the edge, and he was this close to passing out again. No. He needed to use this time he was alone, he needed to stay present, and he needed to find a bloody way out of here.

Not looking at his body again, because why invite freaking chaos, Draco returned to look outside. Far away he thought he could detect a staircase, and there was some light coming from the top of it. That would probably be the only entrance or exit, if he knew anything about dungeons, which regrettably he did. This, then, was his only shot. Now to the problem; how on earth can he get there? Draco considered his options. He was chained and injured, not to mention locked in the cell. Say he somehow managed to get out, how could he crawl to the exit fast enough? And say he did that without being detected, how could he ever hope to navigate the castle with its who-knows-how-many Death Eaters roaming the premises? And even if he did manage – even if he made it out somehow – how could he return to Hogwarts, or go anywhere safe, without his wand? Draco choked on his own mad laughter. It was impossible. Simply impossible. There was, and there will be, no escape.

It was even harder not to think about Harry now, even if it made him ill. Harry would not give up. Harry would find a way. But Harry wasn’t here, was he? And he wasn’t trying to find a way. He wasn’t coming for him. In the beginning – who the fuck knows how long ago – Draco still held on to that wild, stupid hope. Not that he _wanted_ Harry to come for him. Honestly, he didn’t. Keeping Harry away and safe was the most important thing. But… there was no denying that it hurt. To have this proof that he wasn’t worth it, wasn’t good enough, wasn’t really loved. Draco couldn’t really blame him; he would not have saved himself, either. Perhaps he even deserved it. Still, anger was enough to keep him from falling back into that loop; he wasn’t here to repay some cosmic charge, this wasn’t an act of karma. It was his father doing this to him, and his Dark Lord, and Draco could finally lay the blame elsewhere. He could not escape, and Harry is not coming to save him; what was left then? Begging for mercy?

Draco winced as the word came to his mind. _Mercy_. He will get no mercy here, not from them. Perhaps Snape will want to help him, but he could never do it; it would mean forfeiting his own life. His father would never take that risk for him. His mother wasn’t here. His aunt would relish the chance to refuse him. Greyback wasn’t foolish enough to fall for his bait. And the others… the others didn’t give a damn about him, and he could rot in hell for all they cared. If anything they enjoyed his presence there, alive and very much suffering; to see the haughty son of Lucius Malfoy whom they detested and envied for so long being punished was rewarding to them. And to be able to punish him themselves – in one action proving their loyalty to their lord, getting revenge on Lucius and satisfying their own sadistic urges – it was bloody Christmas for them. Draco winced again when he thought about it. He will have to be here for a long, long time still.

There were noises in the distance, and movement as the light by the staircase flickered; someone was growing closer. Draco was a little proud of himself for seeing them coming this time - up until now he’d only had the presence of mind to notice them as he was already being cursed. He couldn’t tell who it was until the figure was pretty near; his heart squirmed with fright when he recognized it. His aunt. Good fucking Gods, he really had it now. He tried to harness the anger he felt so recently into energy. It wasn't much, but honestly, he would take whatever he could right now.

“How are you feeling, dear nephew of mine?” Bellatrix smiled, and Draco had to really push himself to answer.

“Well, you know. The hospitality here could be better yet. Are you open for remarks?”

“Oh, sweet Draco,” the witch smirked and grabbed the cell bars in both hands. “Always so quick with your witty tongue. It’s a wonder it’s still intact in your mouth, boy. I would have thought they’d have done away with it.”

“Something I keep being threatened with, and yet, here it is, miraculously attached to my throat,” Draco stuck it out for good measure. “I’d be grateful if you did me the honor, aunt Bella. It really is getting tiresome.”

“I agree,” she sneered. “rather tiresome, Draco. I think we both know it is time.”

“Oh?” Draco raised a single eyebrow in feigned surprise. “Time for what, now?”

“For this little charade to be over. I think you are tired of suffering, nephew. I think you are tired of this game. You were never a natural player, you know; always had to be pushed into it with rather much force. Always needing so much persuasion, Draco. Even your little Harry had to use quite some heavy weapons on you before you conceded to playing with him.”

Draco automatically gagged when she said the name. Had he eaten anything in the past few days, he would have retched. As it were, there was only a sour taste in his mouth and a searing pain in his chest. He could not bear thinking about him. “Why don’t you do us both a favor and shut up, Auntie. If it is torture you came for, do get along with it. As you said, I was never one for playing.”

“You hate him, don’t you?” Bellatrix snarled. “Your little boyfriend. Can’t even think of him without being physically sick. He did use you rather harshly, I heard.”

“No,” Draco bit out, though he had no idea if it was true or not. “I couldn’t hate him. You can’t make me.” there was no denying the wave of nausea rising through him, though.

“Maybe not, Draco, but there sure is a lot of other things we can do. I gather he used to make you take off your clothes and then use Crucio on you until you submitted to his unearthly desires? Why don’t we take a leaf from his book, then?”

Draco shook his head with disgust. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.” He began to wonder if the memory had been left in his mind for a reason. He was not about to play along. “besides, your lot has been doing it to me for days now. Doesn’t seem to be working.”

“Well, maybe we need to fuck you first, like he did,” she smiled sweetly. Draco could only gape. “What, no witty comeback? No snarly input? You do surprise me, nephew. Surely you’re not so innocent? You _did_ let Potter fuck you.”

“You won’t – you can’t – “ but she was right; he had nothing for her, nothing at all. He hung his head down in shame. This was nothing but an empty threat, he tried to reassure himself, but his gut coiled in terror. They couldn’t – could they?

“In fact, we will, and we can. Draco – I am here to warn you. if you will not cooperate with us until tonight, our dear friends have been authorized full access to your every faculty. And with about – I don’t know, twenty or so men in the castle with very little place to _release_ , if I may be so crude, it would be a very bad idea for you to say no. I’m sure you’ll be interested to know that Greyback is back, and that he is hosting his entire pack for the night. Surely you do not want to meet him in his state. The full moon will be upon us tomorrow, and he is especially feral at the moment.”

“Kill me,” Draco didn’t hesitate for a second. “Aunt Bella, please, kill me. you can make it seem like it was an accident. You tortured me too much and I snuffed out. Please. For my mother, if you ever loved her. Please.” he let his eyes meet hers, and for a second he saw something moving in them, and thought he might have a chance.

It only lasted a second. “I don’t think so, Draco. You still have a chance to save yourself from this grim fate. My advice – take it. If you ever loved your mother.” her smile was cruel and pointy, and Draco heaved a sigh. He closed his eyes.

“I assume I will not be allowed to simply think the matter over until then?”

She let out a small cackle. “I’m afraid not. I will be helping you make the right decision with just the right amount of motivation. I suppose you’ve had a lot of the Cruciatus curse already, you may think yourself immune to it. let me assure you, you are not.” She raised her wand. “Anything else you wish to say to me before we begin?”

“Make it good,” he spat, a little of his fighting spirit thrumming in him for what would probably be the last time. He stared right at her black eyes, and for a second his mind was clear. he could feel Harry – gag – inside him, in the place where they tried to carve him out, and it was almost a consolation even though it hurt like hell. He loved him still, which meant he will love him when he dies. The thought made him smile through the nausea, and when the curse hit his body, he was still smiling.

***

Harry was _furious_. He pushed the plate away from him, lips snarled, eyes shooting sparks, hands clenching into fists. No, furious wasn’t even close to cutting it. He was… his whole body shook as wave after wave of his most recent panic attack washed away from his soul. He didn’t have them since the beginning of the year, but for the last five days – if he could trust the clock – he had them nearly nonstop. He hurled everything he tried to eat, he hit the walls, even tried to smash everything in the vicinity with wandless magic. It didn’t help. Nothing he did, said or felt made any difference in the headmaster’s resolve. Harry was so infuriated, he couldn’t even think about Dumbledore without wanting to burst into flames. Or better yet, watching him burst into flames. He kicked the wall, winced to the pain in his now stubbed toe, and sank back down to the sofa. He was raging. He was…

Images ran against his shutting eyelids before he was even engulfed by darkness. Draco smiling at him, wrapped in Harry’s scarf and lit by the glow of the moon and flurries of snow. Draco lying in his arms on the bed, snuggling tight, blissed out. Draco sinking to his knees between Harry’s spread legs with a devilish grin on his face.

Then they changed. Draco was still on his knees, but now it was among the trees of the Forbidden Forest, and he was crying. Draco hanging his head down, his lip quivering in the potions lab and a defeated look in his eyes. Draco in his boxers only, curled into a ball against the coffee table, the agony still clear on his face. Then the look he gave him right before he ran past the smoke…

Harry didn’t notice he was tearing the fabric of the sofa until his fingers came up with the filling. He was just so, so unbelievably mad. How could they do this to him? How could they sentence him to being here, helpless, driving himself mad with worries and regrets? _How could they do this to him?_

He forced Draco, practically forced him to go to that blasted place. Hadn’t Draco warned him? hadn’t he flat out said they will not hesitate to hurt their own children? Harry was so foolish to think Draco would be safe there. After he failed his test, and with his father there, he should have known. Hell, Draco did know. He kept saying how dangerous it was, how unlikely it was not to end in some sort of disaster, and Harry should have listened. Instead of being such a hard-headed, stupid Gryffindor for once, he should have been thinking about him. He should have forbidden him from coming along. He should have protected him, God damn it, given himself for him, given everything, just like Draco did. And now Draco was suffering because of him and they _wouldn’t let him out_.

He stared at the place where the door usually stood, pouting. A part of him was even angrier that they used this place against him, the place he loved from the bottom of his heart and where he spent most of his time with Draco. Don’t they know how difficult it was for him, to be stuck in the same room where he told Draco he loved him? where he made love to him? where he –

Harry wiped his eyes with one impatient hand. This was not the time to cry. This was the time for _acting_ , for bloody doing something, and every second he didn’t was a waste. Draco could be suffering God knows what by now. It had been five days. He would be tortured so bad – if he was even alive – and the thought alarmed him so much he jumped to his feet. No, Draco couldn’t be dead. They would keep him alive in the hope that Harry would come running there to save him. Well, he bloody well would, if they would only let him leave! He threw the mug against the wall, and relished the sound of crackling china. This was absurd. This was illegal, he was most certain. They can’t keep him here forever. They would have to release him at some point, and as soon as they would he will just – just –

 _Just what_? The little voice in his head taunted. _Will you just go running to the castle to get caught, so you both could die_? His inner voice sounded disturbingly like Hermione. But she was right – meaning, he was right – Harry can’t just go there. He needs a plan, he needs something more concrete than ‘and then we just storm the place and win’. This was what failed them the last time, no? but Harry just couldn’t settle down long enough to formulate any plan through. He was lost without Ron and Hermione, and Dumbledore said they can’t visit him at the moment. He needed them, damn it, he needed them so badly, and he had no idea what to do without them. He had no idea what to do, in general. His desperation brought yet another wave of sluggishness and he plopped back down on the sofa. His head was burning and he closed his eyes yet again.

He should have known better than to trust Dumbledore. he should have known better than to trust Snape. And he should have fucking known better than to trust Draco not to hurt himself. After what he did to his arms – Harry was such a fool not to see it coming. Draco was depressed, he was on the fucking edge, and Harry gave him the push he needed to glide right past it. Stupid, stupid, stupid Harry. He should have seen this coming from miles away. Instead he let himself fall for the cheap trick Draco pulled, just like the others fell for it, as if he really didn’t know how much the Slytherin felt for him. Stupid Harry. And the things he said to him, those things that could be the very last he ever will… It was inexcusable, and he will never, ever get past it. He let him down. There was no other way of looking at it.

Just like with Sirius, it was Harry’s own stupid decision that brought about this ill-fate to the person most important to him in the world. And just like with Sirius, after it happened he was told repeatedly that there was nothing he could do. Dumbledore, that bloody traitor, told him flat out that he can’t use Dobby to go back. “Lord Voldemort will be expecting you to do that, Harry. Draco would have already exposed this source of magic by now, and it’s not safe to use again.” he said it with that fake sorrow in his voice which only served to infuriate Harry. When Harry protested and said Draco would never say anything, Dumbledore was as bold as sighing very deeply and placing a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “He will have no _choice_ , Harry,” he said sadly, and guided him into a chair. “I’m sure he will not want to, but Voldemort’s techniques are far too powerful. He will not be able to stand against him for long. We must treat the situation as if Voldemort already knows everything, which is probably the truth.”

When Harry asked if the headmaster meant that Draco is being tortured at that very moment, and received no reply, he went a little bonkers. He actually broke more things than he had that terrible morning after Sirius died. Dumbledore didn’t reprimand him this time, either, but he did stop Harry from fitfully trying to achieve his first successful apparition on the spot.

“There will be a way, Harry, a better way to do this. We cannot rush into this without thought, for I am afraid this is precisely how we ended up in this particular situation. Ms. Granger, Mr. Weasley, will you be so kind as to sit down, too? We must be putting all our efforts now into releasing young Mr. Malfoy.”

But they came up with nothing. Nothing that satisfied Dumbledore, nothing that could help Draco, not even a little. when Harry declared he was done with the whole thing, and was just about to go there and to hell with the consequences, he was unabashedly Stupefied and thrown into this room with the headmaster’s ‘sincere’ apologies. He was stuck here ever since, and the clock he asked for said it’s been five days, and he thought he was going to lose it any minute now. Dumbledore came by a few more times to talk to him, but he had to leave quite abruptly when Harry’s impatience started to manifest by some strokes of accidental and highly-dangerous magic. It didn’t help when they took his wand away, because he was still doing it wandlessly. He was just so frustrated, and so very sad, that he couldn’t keep it in anymore. He needed Draco. He needed to see him. he needed to feel him. He needed to hold him tight in his arms and make sure he’s okay and that no one is hurting him, and to tell him how much he loves him, and how sorry he is. He couldn’t _believe_ the way he acted in that castle. He couldn’t believe the way he acted before it, too. The long weeks he spent ignoring Draco, refusing to understand him… and that night he used that terrible curse on him…

Suddenly, propelled by his aching shame and deep detestation – of the headmaster, of Lucius, of Voldemort – Harry lifted his hand and pointed it at the wall. “Crucio.” He could feel it seeping out of his fingers, like it did that time, only a hundred times stronger. And he knew, there and then, that he mastered it. The torture curse. He could wield this power anytime he chooses, because he had it, he understood it now. He didn’t even need anger to mean it. He didn’t really need to hate anyone enough. He could just look deep within himself, to the terrible ache Draco’s absence left in him, and that would be enough.

The absence of Draco. His Draco. Thinking about him gave Harry a sort of nervous, nauseous feeling at the pit of his stomach. Knowing that he was stuck in here, while Draco was being… while they were… was just too painful to bear. Harry understood for the first time why anyone might think about committing suicide. Not that he planned on trying it – there was the little issue of defeating Voldemort that was his burden to bear – but the notion wasn’t so strange to him anymore. He kept thinking that if anything happened to Draco, if he didn’t get him back, and after Voldemort was good and gone… Harry slammed his fist into the wall and yelled his frustration. It took hours of sobbing into his knees before he was able to breathe properly again.

Then the door opened – then there _was_ a door, suddenly, miraculously, and it opened. Ron and Hermione both came rushing from behind it, their eyes wide with concern and anger and sadness. “Harry – Harry, are you all right?”

“God,” he said, trembling slightly at their sight, “God, it’s – it’s so bloody good to see you guys.” He grabbed them both into a bone-crushing hug, crying with equal measures of desperation and joy. He missed them so much, it was hard to admit even to himself. Now that they were here… but then he raised his head in suspicion. Why were they here, really? Why suddenly let them come?

As he assumed, his friends did not come by themselves. Dumbledore was at the door and he pulled it closed gently, his eyes lacking their usual glint. Harry didn’t care about that. He pushed Hermione softly away from his arms and faced the headmaster, who didn’t insult his intelligence with an empty smile. Instead he reached out and handed Harry a scroll. “You have a letter, Harry. It’s from Draco.”


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning - please read!! there will be some **rough** threats of non-con in this chapter, which do not get carried out, but are still pretty bad. If you are concerned it may be a trigger, or generally for more details, please see the end notes.  
> We are at the very darkest part of the tunnel, but some say there is light at the end of it, right?

Draco didn’t honestly think he will make it. He had no doubt this will be the thing that breaks him. However, he thought that by this point, there was no going back. He imagined he will be raped repeatedly into his death, and for once found no consolation in the thought of his demise. He just didn’t see any other way. Whatever it was that kept him from giving up was still there, and so Draco saw himself as doomed. He even tried to convince himself it won’t be that bad. What’s rape compared to the Cruciatus curse, right? Still, the rumbling in his gut told him it would be something else entirely. When he pictured the look on Greyback’s face, he was actually faint. A small voice in his mind told him very simply that he could not do it. He just couldn’t. No matter what they want from him, no matter what they ask for, he must relent. He must, because he can’t do it. This was too much, way too much, and it was where he put the line, so to speak. Yet he didn’t.

If he was honest, and he had no choice but to be, he didn’t even remember what it was they asked for. He just knew it was betraying Harry, and helping them, but he did not remember the details. It suddenly seemed important, after days of burning in hell. What was it that he was so loth to do? that he was going to let himself be raped rather than do? that he would let himself be violated, be torn from within for? Was it worth it? Could it bloody be worth it?

He hadn’t had much time to think about it, as he only emerged from the coma induced by Bellatrix’s torture about an hour before dinner, when he was promised _it_ would start. He knew it was an hour because someone had been kind enough to place a clock right before his cell, eye level with Draco no matter how he was – whether he was lying down or sitting, the clock would float effortlessly into his sight. It glimmered every five minutes in a silent, deadly reminder. _Fifty-five minutes until your utter decimation. Fifty minutes before you will be ripped apart. Forty five minutes until your body will no longer belong to you. forty minutes before you are defiled._ And it didn’t fucking help, the little pep-talk he was trying to give himself. True, it was going to hurt less than Crucio, but what did that bloody matter? It was still going to be awful. Just the thought of Greyback’s callous hands on him – forcing him down – spreading his legs –

Draco would have punched himself in the face if his arms weren’t tied behind him. Imagining it, picturing it was _definitely_ not helping. If anything, he should be doing the opposite; trying to find a place in his mind in which to hide, to shelter himself. But his mind had been raped for days, ransacked and left breached and cold, and there was no shelter there. Draco sobbed so hard, his chains rapped against the pole as his shoulders rocked up and down, making melancholy music of loss. He was doomed. He was doomed. And he couldn’t fucking bring himself to stop it.

He didn’t even know what it was they wanted, but he knew he can’t give it. Give in now, and he’d lose everything. This was the very last thing still in him, his last _him_ that Draco had, and to give it away would be to surrender it all. Give in and perhaps Harry would lose, too. And he still loved him, Gods be damned, he loved him and although he was about to throw up in earnest he could not do this to him. He couldn’t. He just couldn’t. It had to be worth it...

When his father came into the cell, Draco was already lost. He knew it. He knew he can’t stand it, and he knew he can’t give up. He assumed his father was there to try and convince him, since the clock now showed two minutes till go time. He looked down and hoped to somehow die before it.

The sound of a belt buckle jangling made his head jump up in alarm. He looked at his father, eyebrows knitting. “W-what are you doing?”

Lucius didn’t look at him as he sighed. “I’m doing my duty, Draco. Just like you should have been doing.” He shrugged off his robes, casting his trousers and shirt away, and now he stood in his briefs only. Draco’s heart plonked down to his belly with a loud _tonk_.

“What d-do you mean?” he forced his tongue to say. His whole body seemed to have frozen.

Then his father was naked and he was lost to the feeling of pins and needles where his mind used to be. From within, his gut seemed to have developed claws, and it tore at him painfully. “I have been chosen to be the first to break you in, boy. I do hope you know this is punishment for the both of us, but I’m afraid you will be the one to suffer more. I have been charmed not to feel any shame, but you… I think it will be a little worse off for you.”

“No,” Draco said, numb with disbelief. “No, you wouldn’t. You couldn’t.”

“I’m sorry to say that I will. I highly doubt it will enjoy it, but… needs must.” He started stroking himself lazily, and Draco’s eyes nearly popped out of his skull.

“Father!” he squealed, and his gut was now suddenly filled with burning little maggots wriggling about madly, “Father, you can’t! You can’t do this! I’m your son, for Merlin’s sake!”

“You were my son,” Lucius nodded gravely, “and my sole heir. Never mind. I will find a new wife after your mother is killed, and she will bear me another son. A better behaved one, I should hope. Turn around, Draco, don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

“No,” Draco whispered. “Please, Father, no. Don’t do this. Please, just kill me. Please. I’m begging you.”

“I’m afraid the time for that has passed,” Lucius shrugged coldly. He took a step closer, and Draco’s heart was about to break his ribs in its attempt to escape. “I truly am sorry you forced me to do this, boy. Truly. And may I just add that you deserve to bear the shame for this until your very last breath, however soon that may be.”

“Father,” Draco begged, frantic, hysteria rising in waves inside him. “No, no, please, no…”

“Move, Draco. Come on, now, on your feet. Turn around and let me get this over with. You know there is only one way to end this.” His father’s hands were on him now, cold and hard in their grip, and he hoisted Draco to his feet.

Something ignited in the hollow that used to be his chest. “Wait – wait! Bloody hell, _wait_! I’ll do it! I’ll do it! please, whatever you want, whatever he wants, I’ll do it! just don’t – please, don’t!”

Lucius let go and Draco fell instantly, his broken legs in no shape to hold him. “Would you now, Draco? Are you finally ready to work together?”

“ _Please_!” Draco screamed. “Please, please, anything you want! I’ll do it! Anything!”

He didn’t even register the smirk on his father’s pale face, as every single one of his systems was going into shut-down. “He does always know,” Lucius smiled to himself, and hummed a little as he picked up his clothes. “Oh, Draco, he does. I am glad you didn’t make me go through with the whole scene, though – I would have hated it, I’m sure. You’re nowhere near my type, even if it weren’t for that disturbing little issue that you were borne off my seed. Well, Draco… enough is enough, right? I will fetch the quill and paper immediately. You can write our very carefully phrased manuscript as soon as you can move your fingers again. Come now, Draco, don’t look so morose. The worse part is over now. I assure you, it will only get better from here.”

He was gone with a whoosh of fabric, but Draco didn’t hear it. He didn’t hear anything anymore. The shock of how close he was to being raped by his own father just wouldn’t let him breathe, and the knowledge he broke – that they managed to break him without even laying a finger on him, in the end – was enough to make him weep. _I’m sorry, Harry_ , he thought to himself. _I’m so sorry_. He didn’t even sense the nausea Harry’s name brought in him this time, because he was out cold on the stone floor before he could notice it. The last thing he did notice was a slight tingling feeling on his neck.

Lucius lied. A very big, very blatant, ridiculous lie, and Draco knew better than to believe it, yet he couldn’t quite fathom _just_ how much worse it could still get. It certainly did not get better, not even near it. After he wrote the words they dictated, his tears falling silently on the page and marring the letters, he was left alone for some time, when it seemed like there really was a chance that the worst part was over. At least outside him; inside, Draco crumbled. Everything he was able to hold back until now, everything he was able to hold on to, it was all gone. The dam surrounding his soul broke and everything gushed out, flowed loose, and now he was empty. Broken. Defeated. He gave up the innermost, most delicate and private part of himself and now he was left bereft. Draco couldn’t even torture himself with thoughts of Harry, for there was no more Harry in him. Only pain and fear, the two snakes coiling in his abdomen, remained. Therefore when the cell door opened again he could only stare with bleak and incomprehensive eyes.

He was still aware, though. He could see when they attached a lead to his collar, could feel the unbearable pain as they hauled him across the dungeons and up the steps. He tried to keep up, to crawl on his hands and knees, but the pain from his broken bones was blinding and he simply could not do it. Draco fell countless times, dragged forwards by his neck, and the salty tears in his eyes were the only reaction he could produce.

He recognized the person pulling him, but couldn’t give them a name. They weren’t silent, though. “Our Lord has broken the boy at last!” his tormentor would announce every once in a while to the sound of loud cheers. “The boy has failed! The boy has been broken!” others threw things at him, spat on him, and he could barely see or understand it. Draco was lost to the pain, rolling in it, drowning in it. It must have been magic that kept him conscious as wave after rising wave of agony tore him completely apart. He wailed and howled and screamed, but the lead didn’t relent, and he was pulled forward mercilessly. All through the castle the lead took him, up and down the stony staircase, and Draco cried with pain stronger than he’d been able to imagine and not even close to what he knew was coming. In and out of rooms, kicked and laughed at and trodden he was pulled, stupid, blind, breathless, not even able to wish he was dead anymore, not able to complete a single thought. He was dead, he had died, and they kept abusing his corpse… kept taunting him with meaningless glee and threats… kept stretching and gawking at his torn flesh… on and on he was dragged until he was at a room that may have been familiar had he been able to concentrate, and thrown at the feet of a tall man he knew at once.

“Draco,” the cold voice said, and he couldn’t help but weep. “Come to me, Draco.”

He wanted to, because fear engulfed him perfectly and he would have done anything to stop the imminent pain, but his body simply couldn’t do it. Hands, softer this time, propped him up until he was kneeling before the Dark Lord. He could not keep his head up until one of his cold hands softly held his chin.

“Look at yourself, Draco. Look what has become of you. You who was meant to be our future. What is left of you now?”

Draco shook his head; he didn’t know. Somewhere between not much and nothing at all. “Please,” he whispered, or at least that’s what he meant.

“You made a mistake, haven’t you, boy? You were wrong. What have you to say for yourself?”

Draco knew the answer, could see it in those flaming-red eyes, and he didn’t have enough of himself left to fight it. “I’m sorry,” he sobbed, chest rocking hard. “Please, I’m so sorry.” His words weren’t even half-formed, it was nothing but a mad babble, but the Dark Lord knew what he was trying to say.

“Look around you, Draco. Look at all of us, we who were your allies, your roots and your rock. You grew from us, were entwined with us, and you have been snapped off brutally. No one can survive alone, Draco. You need your family. Look.”

And Draco did look. His head was turned in an angle that must have been impossible, and he could see them all, although it took a moment for his mind to actually grasp the sight into details. There were dozens of them, faces both familiar and unrecognizable, and suddenly – after being called _boy_ incessantly for days – Draco really did feel like a child. He was alone. He was vulnerable, unprotected, unguided. He was naked and broken and so, so very much on his own, and he didn’t even have himself to rely on. When he sobbed now it wasn’t because of sheer fright, but because his heart had broken too. Being alone was so terrible. He let his head fall onto the man’s lap and his tears wet his trousers.

The Dark Lord ran long fingers through his hair, a gesture that were he able to think would have sent Draco into a frenzy, but now was comforting and right. “Hush, Draco. It will all be over soon. You have been good, you have helped me, and for that you will receive my mercy. I will not let the werewolf tear you; you shall get a swift, easy death.”

Draco couldn’t stop his lips from forming tear-choked words of gratitude. He would have kissed the Dark Lord’s robes but moving was impossible.

The Death Eaters laughed, but the sound was distant and disconnected from him. Draco was only here, on his blazing knees, the pain shooting from his shin about to end him, the hollow in his heart making him cold. He would die here, and he could only hope it would happen soon. _Please_ , he thought when his voice croaked beyond use, _please, please, please…_

***

Harry opened the letter and read through it three times without taking a single word in. then he sat down on the sofa, closed and opened his eyes a couple of times, slapped himself once to Hermione’s incredulous gasp and tried to concentrate again. It was a very short letter, written in a shaky and jittery hand. “Are we sure it’s really from him, Professor?”

Dumbledore nodded. “I ran the necessary checks, Harry. This letter was written by Draco Malfoy’s hand, and it wasn’t induced by magic, meaning he wasn’t coerced into writing this. At least, not by a spell.” This remark didn’t really help Harry’s attempts at focusing.

“What does it say, Harry?” Ron asked in a tight voice. Harry was happy for the request to read it out loud, because he didn’t get anything from it even on the fourth and fifth read. His voice was quite hoarse when he read.

“Harry,” he said, and already on the first word something in him broke, “I believe I am going to die.” He had to stop there, since something hard and heavy lodged between his ribs and temporarily made it impossible to breathe. When Hermione leaned in to grab the paper from him, though, he refused and cleared his throat. “I believe I am going to die,” he repeated, and the words didn’t sound any more real.

_Harry,_

_I believe I am going to die. They say I shouldn’t make it past morning, and I have no strength left to fight anymore. I am sorry. I never wanted to betray you, but I’m afraid I failed you once more._

_Please know I meant what I said that night in the Room of Requirement. You didn’t believe me then, but I have never been more sincere. You were so angry with me. It kills me that I hurt you that way, and when they punish me, I try to think it is to atone for the wrong I’ve done you. I hope one day you’ll be able to forgive me. for my part, I forgive you, Harry. For everything. I don’t blame you for what’s happened, it doesn’t matter who’s fault it is. Nor do I blame you for not coming for me. I could never repay you the great debt I owe, even if I had years and years more in this world. I’m sorry. I long to die, Harry. It will be a kindness. Please don’t hold it against me._

_I wish I could see you once again, even for a second, but I’m afraid it’s too late. At least I can die knowing you are safe. It gives me more consolation than you can imagine. Please be strong, Harry, and remember me. Perhaps one day you can think of me and smile._

_Now and forever I will always be,_

_Yours,_

_Draco_

Harry looked up at the others, realizing they were waiting for him to continue reading out loud, but he couldn’t. Instead he shoved the letter into Hermione’s hand and looked up at the headmaster. “Can we be sure he really wrote it?” he hated the way his voice shook.

“Yes, Harry. Draco wrote this letter, of that I am confident.”

“But why?” he slammed his hand down on the coffee table. “Why would they let him write to me all of a sudden?” he didn’t add, _and why would he write me something like that?_

“I believe he may not have been the true mind behind the words,” Dumbledore said carefully. “We have to remember that for the past five days, Draco has been in the hands of Lord Voldemort. It is more than likely that they told him what to write, in the hope they could get some sort of… reaction from you.”

“But the thing he said,” Ron knitted his brows. “The conversation Harry and Draco had in here – how did they know about that?”

The professor sighed. “As I have expressed before, Mr. Weasley, I believe Draco has had to share his entire set of memories with his captors. I don’t think there is much he would have been able to keep secret.”

“He wouldn’t be telling me these things,” Harry said when his voice was at his command again. “That he wants to see me. That he… he will never have written that. He would know how it would rip me apart to read, and he wouldn’t… he wouldn’t torture me like that.”

“No, I believe he wouldn’t,” Dumbledore said, and Harry suddenly didn’t hate him all that much. “I do believe he was made to write this, if not by magical means. I am sorry, Harry. I realize this is hard to bear. I understand if you think I did the wrong thing, letting you read this.”

Harry shook his head. “No. It’s – do you think they’d really kill him, though?” his shaky fingers pried the parchment from Hermione’s hold. “He said by morning. Are they really going to do it?”

Dumbledore shook his head. “I don’t know. I find it hard to believe they would lose the threat with which they hoped to draw you by killing him. Nevertheless… his state might be of such that they would have no other option.”

It was like the old man just punched him in the stomach; Harry doubled-down, letter crumpling in his hand, airless. “You – you think – D-dr-“ a drop of his tears hit the parchment. He didn’t see it tracing a sudden blue light across it.

“Harry, wait,” he heard Hermione saying from somewhere above him. “Wait, let me see that thing for a moment?”

But he didn’t listen, couldn’t listen. “He is going to die – he’s going to die because of me –“

“Harry, look at the letter – do you see how it’s – “

“They fucking tortured him for _days_ because of me, and now he’s going to die –“

“Harry, please, let go of it!”

“-because of what they _did_ to him – my Dra-“

“No!” she tried to seize the letter from him, and Harry didn’t even notice how it was glowing now, almost blinding. “Harry, stop, it’s a trap – “

“-co-“

A cold hook settled behind his navel and _pulled_. In barely a second he was no longer in the room of requirement, but it took his mind a moment to understand where in fact he was. He recognized the bare stone and the dusty, disheveled look of the place and knew he was in the castle, even in a room he had been to – the sitting room. He drew a harsh breath, readying for the sights that assaulted his eyes; Death Eaters in their black cloaks and masks, and sitting on an armchair in the far wall, the snakelike face that haunted his sleep. But nothing, nothing could have prepared him to the sight of Draco, his Draco, sprawled naked at Voldemort’s feet, broken beyond measure, perhaps not even alive. He bit his tongue hard enough to draw blood.

“Harry Potter, joining us at last. How very kind of you to finally arrive.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The non-con elements are threats only, and they will not actually take place. However the scene is still pretty harrowing - the threat is of Draco being raped by his own father, though again it does not actually happen - so please approach with caution. If you do not wish to read it, skip to the part after the asterisks. 
> 
> *spoiler alert if you've not read the chapter yet* 
> 
> If you did skip the part before the asterisks, what you basically need to know is that Draco caved - the threat was just too much - and he has given up and agreed to write the letter to Harry Lucius keeps niggling him about. We leave him back in the sitting room with Voldemort and the Death Eaters and he is, well... pretty much broken.


	34. Chapter 34

Harry reacted so quickly, the whole room was a blur. He still didn’t have his wand – fucking _Dumbledore_ – and so all he could do was cast wandless spell after wandless spell and _hope_ they would catch. Harry’s ability without his wand was shaky at best. Sometimes he’d be able to cast to full effect, but some of his attempts resulted in nothing but silvery mist. Worse still, some resulted in nothing. And in his current state of total fucking disarray, he didn’t think he had a very good shot. So he did the second best thing he could think of, and ran.

His original plan, to grab Draco, proved impossible within the first three seconds. After that it was really a no brainer; Draco would be safer in any case if they ran out after him. So he sent a silent _Stupefy_ at whoever was on his way to the door, jumped over the crouching body of another Death Eater, and he was out of the sitting room.

“Running away from me, Harry Potter?” he heard Voldemort’s cold drawl, but could give exactly zero fucks at the moment and just resumed his sprint. His familiarity with the castle only reached the first floor and Narcissa’s room, so that’s where his legs took him automatically; his sides were splitting, his chest was burning, and his breathing was a mess – still he somehow made it up the stairs and slammed himself against the wall to avoid a green jet thrown his way.

“Little Harry Potter is scared?” Lestrange’s mocking voice made his ears steam, but he didn’t move an inch. “Come on, Harry. It’s just you and me now. Sirius isn’t here to protect you.”

“Shut up about him!” Harry was somehow able to say. His mind was frenetic with exhaustion and tantalizing, breathtaking rage. He wasn’t sheltered anymore by confusion and fear. Oh, no. He could feel it now, every last bit of it, every excruciating tinge.

“Harry is sad?” Bellatrix taunted. “Little Harry misses his boyfriend?”

“I said shut _up_!”

“Oh no, I think I hurt little Hawwy’s feelings!” She let out a mad cackle. Her voice kept growing nearer, and Harry was well aware he didn’t know the way out.

“You’re going to pay,” Harry muttered through his teeth. “For what you did to Sirius. What you did to Draco. I will make you pay for all of it.”

“Such a big boy, making all these threats.” She was too close now, far too close. Harry knew he had to do something, he only wished he knew what. “You should really watch your mouth, Potter. Your sweet Draco is waiting, and I’m sure you won’t want to – “

“Crucio!” Harry jumped onto the staircase and, judging by her stunned expression, caught her right in the chest. She gaped at him for a second before falling with a rather satisfying _clunk_ , heavy and gasping on the stairs. Harry could only watch her with horrified fascination for a second, feeling the now-familiar sensation coursing through him – how his anger was solidifying, then breaking into little fragments that were neither wave nor particle, how his hatred condensed and dissolved into pure energy – he was completely enraptured, until a loud howl carried through the air from the sitting room.

Voldemort’s voice must have been amplified by magic. “Come and say goodbye to Draco, Harry Potter. Come and see him before he dies.”

Harry’s infuriated groan came right from his midriff. What to do? What could he bloody do now? He had no wand. He couldn’t make it to the exit in time even if he knew where it was. He can’t apparate. And then, more important than all of those excuses, was the reason he was here… Draco…

Harry steeled himself. He squared his shoulders, pulled up to his full height, and took very deliberate steps down to the sitting room. This was, by far, not how he envisioned his ultimate fight with Voldemort; for one, he thought he will be an adult by then, with at least another year of frantic learning in between. He also thought he will have his wand – his most important, even if only, weapon. He imagined he would feel nothing but cool, righteous courage, that he would know in his heart of hearts that _this is it, this is how it’s meant to be_. He thought he will feel _ready_. Well, he didn’t feel ready. He didn’t feel righteous or cool or particularly courageous. The only emotion he was aware of was of being pissed off.

Because he took Draco. It wasn’t enough that Harry had to give all of his bloody life to this – that he had to let go of his parents, of his childhood, of his godfather, of his dreams even – all of that was apparently nothing. No; in this ruddy world Harry also had to give the one thing that made him happy, the only thing that was ever his. And this was just not right. It was not done. And he will not let it happen, not as long as he could stop it. Right before the door he stopped to take a deep breath and assess his situation. Inside were about twenty five armed and trained murderers, topped by their megalomaniac leader. He was a clueless teenager, without a wand and on his own, with nothing to guide him but the raging screech in his head.

He thought he had a pretty good chance.

If not kill Voldemort, Harry told himself as he jumped inside, at least get as many of his useless followers as he could. It happened as soon as he came in the room; an explosion of power inside him that came bursting out completely out of his control. It was like what happened with Dumbledore in the Room of Requirement, only ten times stronger; Harry was outright scared with his own power. Well, somewhere in him he was scared. Mostly he was angry. Smoke and ash filled his lungs and clouded his view. There were some bodies on the ground, and Harry sent his little bursts of energy anywhere else, everywhere he could. It was chaos. It was perfect.

He was thoroughly enjoying himself, the action after so many days of being cooped up filling him with adrenaline, until he heard that howl again. Then he stopped dead in his tracks as he saw Draco being pulled up by a spell, and Malfoy’s wand at his throat. It had to be him, because no one else would have such a ridiculous ponytail.

“Stop at once or he’s gone,” Malfoy hissed at him, and Harry stared, hard.

“That’s your son,” he said in was might have passed for his voice were he ten years old.

“He won’t be for much longer if you cast another spell,” Lucius drawled, and Harry was beat. He raised both hands and took a look at the mess around him. At least five Death Eaters were on the ground between the upturned sofas and rubble. He had no idea if they died. He didn’t really care.

“Very well, Lucius, let him down,” Voldemort’s voice rose above it all, and Harry felt sick to his stomach. Draco was – he was – he didn’t look anything like his Draco. Like, anything at all. The only thing that made him recognizable was the mop of blond hair hanging limply on his face. Harry wanted to scream.

“What did you do to him?” he whispered instead, because apparently his voice box didn’t get the memo.

“Nothing he didn’t deserve,” Lucius bit out, and if Harry wasn’t so appalled by the figure of Draco on the carpet he would have ran straight at him, spell or no spell.

“We merely showed young Draco what he seemed to have forgotten,” Voldemort said, and with a flick of his wand he cleared a path through the debris. “Something that you too, Harry, should soon learn. But first, a greeting. It has been a while since we last met. I believe the last time you left without saying a proper farewell.”

The curse hit him hard, but Harry expected that. He doubled down, biting a hole through his lip so as not to scream. He was released a moment later, though, and ignored the very adamant demand from his body to sit down. Instead he looked up right at the red eyes.

“Is this how you want to fight me?” he asked plainly. “Twenty on one? Where is the dignity in that, huh? Where is the honor? The great Lord Voldemort, so scared to fight a teenager he let his whole gang at him, first?”

“Oh, Harry, you do have a passion for dramatics.” Harry was slightly gaping. Did Voldemort just _smile_ at him? “I do not intend to let anyone else kill you, naturally. That duty is mine, and mine alone. But before it will be time for you to die – tell me, Harry, what should I do with your boyfriend?”

A block of unnaturally heavy ice sat in the place where Harry’s heart usually did. “What do you mean?”

“Well, as it were, my plan was simply to kill him. I had promised him, after all. I wondered if perhaps you had any objections to that.”

Harry growled. Literally growled. “You touch him – you lay one finger on him – “

“And what?” Voldemort’s tone shifted to bored. “What exactly will you do?”

“I will make you pay.” Harry dearly wished his voice was more commanding, deeper, like Kingsley’s or something. Well, he could only play with what he had. To his surprise, none of the Death Eaters laughed.

“Rennervate,” Voldemort cried in his loathsome high-pitch, and the bloody mess roughly in Draco’s shape wriggled on the floor. He let out that loud, blood-curdling howl again, and Harry’s block of ice was physically breaking.

“Stop it,” he breathed, voice cracking, but already Voldemort sent the next spell that levitated Draco from where he lay next to Lucius and hurled him down at Voldemort’s feet. “Stop it!”

“Incarcerous,” the man all but leered, and thin ropes struggled around Harry’s body, binding him tight.

“They will remember this,” he spat, barely able to stay up with the way the ropes forced him to bend. “All of them. They will remember that when you had to face me, a wandless boy and all alone, you couldn’t do it by yourself. You couldn’t even fight him. You will be a laughing stock, a shame. All the Crucios in the world won’t change that.”

“Do not worry, Harry,” the red eyes narrowed. “I will fight you, as you so desperately wish. However, I do not mean to do it straight away. No – first, I feel like it is my duty to teach you. You are under my care now, aren’t you? and there is so much Dumbledore hasn’t shown you. Please, make yourself comfortable.” He was thrown down on the ground, hard. “You will leave this life only after you have been taught the meaning of real pain, Potter. You will cower before me… then, and only then, I will release you.” Another spell lifted him from the ground then sent him crashing down again. “But then… perhaps I won’t be the best teacher for you, after all…”

Harry’s glasses broke the next time he was thrown down. It didn’t really matter. He didn’t want to see what Voldemort and his Death Eaters were doing, huddled around Draco’s tortured figure. He didn’t want to see it. Luckily enough, it took hardly any time before he passed out and lay blissfully unaware on the scratchy carpet.

***

Everything was white. Well, everything _outside_ was white. Inside, it was all white, besides for a little spot of fire in a place that for some reason he decided to name his gut.

Gut. What an interesting concept. That he had a gut, had to mean he had a body. Yes – he could feel it all around him. It was a startling discovery. There was pain everywhere; he _was_ the pain, a solid block of it, every inch of him. He burned and burned without wasting away somehow. It hurt so bad, it could have been the reason why everything was white. Well, everything but the fire in his gut, which had a name that he did not yet know.

“Wake up, Draco.”

Draco. It took a moment to understand they even meant him; he opened his eyes, for he had two of them, and expelled a shaky breath. Slowly the impenetrable white began to fizzle into sharper detail. A face above him, one that he knew and yet could not place. Draco – that must have been his name – blinked. Even this small movement hurt.

The face moved, and now there was only ceiling in front of him. It looked vaguely familiar. As if, sometime in another life, he looked up at it. As if he had known it, like he knew the blond man. He tried his strength with another breath. Apparently that was something he had to do in very short intervals. If he didn’t, the part around his center – his chest – burned even worse than the rest of him.

It was still too white inside his head, a very dense layer of fog. Draco knew there was something beyond it, but he couldn’t even guess what. What a shame. He really did want to know. He tried to move, but it proved impossible. Draco was alarmed to realize that the small sound of gurgling was coming from his very self; something trickled down the corners of his mouth. It was sticky. Draco tried to close his eyes again, because even the white fog was better than that almost-familiar ceiling, but he couldn’t. His eyelids were too swollen to shut all the way now that they’ve opened. Oh well.

It was a fascinating experience, discovering all his different body parts as each of them ached rather singularly, but he didn’t have the time. The face returned, and some baffling seconds later Draco found himself propped up to sitting. He would have slumped right back down if there wasn’t something at his back – a wall. Draco blinked again at the now visible room.

He had been there before, he was almost sure of that. The very air was familiar. But it was far, too far down below the fog, and Draco didn’t have a chance to retrieve it. There were shapes moving about, clad in – black, was it called, the opposite of white? – shapes that turned out to be human forms, although it took him an extra moment to reach that conclusion, as their faces were covered in masks. Draco felt rather grateful for that. He was sure he didn’t want to see them.

One of the men wasn’t wearing a mask. He wasn’t running about the room, either. He sat on a cushiony throne with his eyes blazing red and Draco was _terrified_. He knew this man. More intimidating than the blond face, not only because the red in his eyes was the same as the red of the fire in his gut. He knew this man and he was frightened.

“Come to me, Draco.” He wanted to, really, he did. He would do anything this voice told him, because it held such a fierce promise for pain. Draco knew without a doubt this man caused it. Him – all the others too – he knew it from his previous life. Back when he’d seen the ceiling and recognized the blond man and knew why he hurt so bad. This man controlled the pain, and he could make Draco hurt again. Helpless tears leaked from his eyes. It was punishment. What for, he had no idea, but he was not going to motivate them to do it again. Problem was, his body wouldn’t listen; he couldn’t move at all.

Thankfully the red eyes understood, and somehow the air carried him to kneel before the throne. Draco could only blink his shock. There was something achingly familiar in the tingling all around him – _magic_ – and it almost made him cry. The fog vibrated, but didn’t disappear. Draco held his breath without meaning to.

“Welcome back, boy. We have been waiting for you to return to us.” 

Draco blinked at the red eyes. He had no idea what to do.

“Tell me what you see.”

“I see – “ every word was an incredible effort, but he kept going, fear driving him forwards, “my master. My Lord.” The words puzzled him, since he had no idea where they came from, but the fire in him roared in agreement.

“Very astute, Draco. Can you stand?” he wasn’t strong enough to speak any more, so he just shook his head no in a very minute gesture. Once again the red-eyed master was merciful, and he waved his wand so Draco was floating in the air, fairly upright in what could be considered standing. Then the spell made him turn, so he was facing the room at large again.

At first, what he saw held no meaning to him; the room was unlit and blurry compared to the fire in the red eyes. In a moment his eyesight stabilized, and he could see them again. There were about twenty of the men (words from a different life hovered in his head: _twenty or so men in the castle with very little place to release…)_ and Draco feared them too. The presence of his master there gave him no consolation; In his previous life, his master allowed them to hurt him. He hurt Draco himself. There was a stinging, hot lump in his throat that he desperately wanted to swallow.

But the men weren’t the only living thing in the room. It took Draco some time to realize the ball on the floor before them was even human; he tilted his head at it, unsure, blinking hard. Tentatively he leaned forward, intrigued, when he saw the mess of dark hair and stopped still.

He knew this person. More than anything, more than the blond man and the red-eyed master, _he knew him_. Normally he wasn’t curled into a ball on the floor – normally he’d stand tall, proud, strong – and the contrast was making him dizzy. This wasn’t right, and even in his baffled state he knew it. It wasn’t meant to be this way. Draco frowned.

“Do you recognize your old friend, Draco? He came for you. He came because he thought he loves you, and that you loved him too.”

Draco was startled to hear that. Sure, he knew the man, but _love_? He didn’t know anything about love. He didn’t know much about anything at all at the moment. Only the fire burning painfully in his gut, only the men that brought the pain… and now this little ball of human that is meant to love him… Draco gulped. “I – I don’t – “

“It’s all right, Draco. Fear not. I know you do not love him, as he should have known himself. Tell me, Potter, did you really think that Draco meant it when he professed his love to you that night in your little fight?”

 _Potter_. The name was like the ringing of a hundred bells in his head. Hard, ear-splitting in their tenacity, so loud they actually hurt. _Potter_. He knew him. He knew him, and something was struggling to traverse the fog in his mind and in his chest. There was something… something from a different life about Potter…

 _Potter_ said something too quiet for him to hear, but the men around him roared with laughter. “Speak up, boy,” their master chided, and Potter was forced up to his knees by a spell. “What was it that you said?”

“I said you wouldn’t know love if it bit you in your snaky arse,” Potter spat, and Draco gasped. Such blatant disrespect – but surely he will be punished for it, he will be made to hurt, and Draco wanted to warn him – to protect him – but there was nothing to do; he could not move, and only they controlled the pain.

“My, my,” the master said, and his robes rustled as he got to his feet. “It seems our young friend does not know how to show proper respect to his superiors. No matter, Potter, no matter… you will learn soon enough.” Draco did not know if he could feel relief yet. He knew what the men can do, and he did not want Potter to know too. Love him… was that what it meant to love? That he didn’t want him to hurt?

“Let him go,” Potter demanded, and Draco was impressed against his will. He had no idea he meant _him_ until a hand landed on his shoulder, cold and long fingered and brutal in the amount of pain it caused. “No! don’t touch him! don’t you dare touch him!” Draco did not expect the master to obey. He did not. Instead, he leaned heavily onto Draco, pushing on the very sensitive torn flesh and eliciting a huge gasp out of his cracked lips.

“No!” There was such a gut-wrenching scream that Draco completely forgot about the hand tearing his shoulder in two. Was it the bells again, ringing out of control? He lifted his head, stricken, to see the boy Potter scramble against invisible ropes, angry tears splashing down his face, his whole body writhing in desperation. Draco could not believe it. He simply could not. Could this Potter be reacting like that because of what the master was doing to _Draco_? Is it possible that someone will care enough about him to be this torn up about _him_? It was unimaginable. It was impossible. It was… “Stop it, stop, you monster! Let go of him, right now!”

“Oh, Potter, you have no idea, do you?” the hand left his body and Draco breathed his relief. He was a little too stunned to think coherently, and when the spell released him he nearly fell flat on his face. Instead he managed to fall to his knees, somewhat gracefully. That felt familiar. Not the kneeling necessarily, but the gracefulness of his actions. “He isn’t even the boy you used to know. He has been broken, Potter. Completely broken.”

That was news to Draco. He didn’t know he was broken. Now, peering within himself, he wondered what it meant. He used to be different? He was more than this once, more than just the white fog and the fire and the red-eyed master? The familiar ceiling and the Potter boy… yes, yes, there was more, he was more. He was _someone_ once. And he knew where to find himself, too – right beyond the fog. But how to pass it? surely it was impossible.

Draco considered all he knew about himself. Graceful, indeed, that was something he was. Sadly, that was about it.

“You coward! Going after children instead of picking a fight with someone your own size!” Draco’s heart gave a palpable lurch. Potter wasn’t just bold, he was _mad_. He was going to have to pay for this one. Draco wondered again about how he was meant to have loved Potter, and if that made him mad too. Graceful and mad. Not a terrible start.

The room was as quiet as Draco imagined death would be. Nothing moved, nothing stirred. Then the master spoke. “And I suppose you see yourself as _my size_ , Potter?”

“More so than him! let him go, and we can have a real fight! Stop hiding behind your hideous actions and just face me!”

There was a scoff from behind Draco. “I am the one that hides? It is you who never seems to be on your own. Always someone else to sacrifice… always someone to hurt for you…” and Draco was engulfed by the familiar pain again, so strong he was blind, and his knees had no chance as his nose met the floor. Still, from above the pain, he could hear it. A cold laughter and a broken yowl. When the pain stopped and he could think again, he wondered. His master laughed at Potter’s tears. He was cruel, that much was evident. Did that mean Draco was cruel, too? Graceful and mad and cruel? It felt about right.

“Stop it, stop hurting him. Please.” something contracted in Draco’s chest. He didn’t want to hear Potter beg. He didn’t want to hear him small and hurt and sad. If he could move his arms he’d cover his ears, but there was no need to, as magic pulled him up again and he was standing somehow. Without his say so, his left arm rose and settled like that, stretched forward.

“Enough of that now. Bring the boy his wand. Draco, I assume you remember how to use it?”

The stick was shoved into his hand and Draco completely forgot to answer, because _he knew this wand_ , he knew it intimately and softly and being presented it was like being given a piece of his heart back. His heart… _which had been broken to pieces so small they could not be found…_ Draco shook his head and the fog cleared a tiny bit. This was a part of him, once. With this he did things – wonderful things, brilliant things, terrible things. For he was all that and more: wonderful, brilliant, terrible. There were tears in his eyes when he lifted his head. “My Lord?”

“Oh, look at him. Does it not bring a smile to your face, Potter? Can you think of one instance when he wouldn’t quip with some terrible wit? And here he is, completely blank, all for me. I hope you can appreciate it, Potter, the beauty of it. My Draco.”

Draco had to wonder at the words. He didn’t quite remember being any of that, but it sounded right to his confused ears. All right, then. He was witty. That was surely something to go on. Draco bore inside, and the fog was thinning, but not enough to actually see. He wished terribly he could. It felt important now, for some reason, to know who he used to be. Even if he will never be that person again, even if it meant nothing, he still wanted to know. Even if only to solve the mystery, but probably because the emptiness was cold and hard on him. He caressed the wand softly, and it gave him some consolation.

“He is not yours. He will never be yours.” Draco stared at Potter, for the words were nothing but asinine. The opposite was correct, if anything; he was nothing _but_ his. Draco squinted his eyes and tilted his head. Could it be that Potter knows who he was? Could Potter maybe tell him?

“Tell me, Draco. What do you see? Who is this boy before you?”

He took a moment to think. “You called him Potter, my Lord.” The dark haired boy looked absolutely broken. His face was covered in tears and snot and Draco thought that maybe, maybe he really did know him in the past, maybe he knew him very well. He kept thinking that if he could put his hand on him, like he did on his wand, then he would know. The fog shifted and swayed inside him.

“I did indeed. Tell me – do you love him?”

The green eyes were huge and for a moment it was all he could see. Draco swallowed hard. “No, my Lord.”

“Oh, Potter. Sad little Potter. Did your little heart break once again? Are you going to cry your eyes out?”

For some reason, the words seemed to soothe him, and Potter stopped sniffling madly. He held his head high, and Draco suddenly thought about new concepts like _brave_ and _good_ and wondered if he was them, too.

“I don’t know what they did to you, but… I love you, Draco. Nothing will ever change that. I love you so much.”

Something in him ached, around the region where he imagined his heart lay behind the fog. The fog which was still thinning rapidly. He could nearly see it now. Draco closed his eyes and took stock of what he knew. Graceful, mad, cruel. Wonderful, brilliant, terrible. Witty, brave, good. _Loved_ , he was almost sure of it. Loved. Magical. Draco. He was so close.

“Well, then, I suppose we are done with that. Come now, Draco, let us not be rude to our guest. Why don’t you show little Harry some of the things we have taught you over the past week?”

The bells went wild, and Draco was rendered speechless. All of a sudden, out of nowhere, he _knew_. Draco blinked bleary eyes, grateful beyond belief. He was Draco. All those things – all the things he thought he might have been, he knew it now. He was himself again, complete, drained of energy but so very him he could sing. The room shook and swerved in big jolts but he was _him_ , he was himself again, and it was absolutely everything.

It must have been the nausea that broke the spell. Or perhaps it wasn’t a spell that was holding him at bay; perhaps he was truly, utterly broken. But the nausea at the name Harry was something made instinctive in him, and even that fog wasn’t strong enough to cover it. And now as it dispersed – now that he could feel again – sure, the nausea was still there, but this was Harry and he knew him. He knew him and he loved him. Loved him. He loved him so much, with such sheer intensity, and to an extent he couldn’t even fathom. All the veils fell, the fog was gone, and he was Draco once more, truly and perfectly Draco, and he knew. Harry came for him. Stupid Harry thought Stupid Draco was worth saving. For a second he was overjoyed, but then something cold and hard stole over him. His Harry. Here, in the heart of danger.

The bells rang so loud Draco nearly stumbled out of the spell holding him. His mind was positively shattering with the racket; these weren’t bells of joy, he discovered harshly. These were bells of doom. And he was about to cave under them, because this was _Harry_ , his Harry, and he suddenly knew what that meant. Draco closed his eyes, for if ever there was a time to concentrate, it was now.

Something, something, he needed to do something. He had no idea what, as seventeen years of consciousness were jammed into a far-too-tight tube then proceeded to wash over him. Draco was drowning in his own mind. He had no idea what to do, but he knew he had to do it, now. Harry was here, and now he knew where here was, and what was going to happen to him here. Draco could not let that happen, but he was lost under the waves, swept further and further away from shore… he was drowning…

Suddenly the bells stopped. He hallucinated he could hear his name – it was his mother’s voice calling him, like she did when he was little. Draco smiled to himself, suspended somewhere between this world and the next, unable to move and confused out of his senses. He had no idea what was happening around him, but he knew one thing, and he knew it for sure; he was Draco. Always had been, and he will be exactly this until the very end. The fog tried to take it from him – this terrible week tried to take it from him – that atrocious month tried to take it from him – this entire _year_ was nothing but one long attempt to take it from him. But he will not let it. He knew who he was. All of those things – brilliant, witty, good, cruel, brave, everything, he was it all. And he loved. He loved so much. He was strong, and he was capable, and he could do this. He could do this.

Reality fast tracked towards him until he was immersed in it. It felt like hours had gone by, but it couldn’t have been more than a few seconds. Draco was still only barely standing, arm still stretched by the spell, wand shoved in it. They had given him a wand. What did they think was going to happen? Draco had about half a second to understand that they all thought he was still under that – whatever that was. They thought he was going to hurt Harry. Which meant he had absolutely no time to act.

Draco looked, really looked this time, and he saw it in Harry’s eyes – not shock or surprise, no anger or resentment, only love. Harry trusted him. For the first time in his life, Draco felt like he deserved to be trusted. He wished so hard he could be a shield, to protect Harry from this somehow, any way he could. His arm was pure agony, and he had to act now. Draco concentrated all his love, all of him – for he knew now, he knew who he was, finally – into this one spell. It would probably be the last he’d ever cast. When he gave Harry another look, it was a goodbye. With a sudden jerk he threw himself forwards towards him.

“Protego!” he cried, his voice unbelievably strong, and such a force surged from him as he fell, he hardly even noticed when he hit the floor. A shield erected around Harry – a shield of blinding white light, so strong it felt solid – piercing through him like a white-hot knife. Draco’s body was stuck in the middle of it, half inside and half outside the wall of flaming protection, and every piece of him within it burned. He could smell his flesh sizzling and he would have fainted, but he had to keep the spell, he had to keep it going… the last thing he ever did, he had better do it well… He looked up at Harry getting to his feet, protected at last.

Somehow, the fire didn’t kill him. It was almost as if something else was absorbing the flames, and Draco remained there, almost unharmed. His hand was shaking as he presented Harry his wand, and he took it, aiming directly at the Dark Lord. Draco’s heart was about to explode. Harry was protected, he was protecting him, and now he might win.

But before Harry even cast the first spell, there was a huge crash and a large portion of the wall disappeared into the air. Light spilled into the room immediately, and in it Draco could see shapes… people… They flew in, on brooms and maybe on nothing but righteousness, Draco’s stunned eyes couldn’t really tell. Some he knew, for now he could recognize them; Dumbledore and McGonagall and Weasley and Granger, and some that he didn’t know, but it didn’t matter, because now Harry wasn’t alone. 

Draco wanted to help them, but he was impaled by his own magic. It didn’t matter. Fighting the Dark Lord was Harry’s calling. Fighting the Death Eaters – well, that’s why the others were there. He only had one task. Before the school year began he got the task, only then he misunderstood it. _Be close to Potter. Gain his trust. Make him follow you_. It didn’t mean he had to get him killed. On the contrary; it meant he was fit to save him. It meant his mission, his task, his duty, was now towards that boy. He has followed me, Draco told himself and he concentrated on the shield, keeping it strong. And now it is my turn to follow him.

his mind was rambling. Draco just couldn’t stop thinking it; those stupid, stupid people, giving him a weapon to use against them, because they didn’t believe he ever would again. Trust them not to understand the most idiotic, Gryffindor scale of love; he didn’t care that the frozen grip of death was all around Harry already. He would follow him, and he would release him from that cold hold. He concentrated it all, all of his devotion, all of his affection, everything he is and was. And when the spells hit him, he did not relent, he did not give up. He wouldn’t, not now. Not when he finally found what to fight for, not when he was finally starting to understand himself. When remaining conscious wasn’t an option anymore, Draco fell with a grin on his face, because he had finally done it. He proved it – to the world, but most importantly, to himself. He was good. He was really, truly, good.


	35. Chapter 35

Harry woke up thinking his head was burst in two, it hurt so bad. He blinked his heavy eyelids, but the room around him was nothing but a blur. His glasses. He needed them. His hand shot up instinctively, but he was not prepared for the burning sensation going through his entire system, making him yelp. The blur was moving by his side and someone was speaking. Harry felt gentle hands place his glasses on his face, and then it was Hermione, and the edges of some fiery-red hair that could only be Ron. “Easy, now,” she smiled tentatively, pushing him back down on the bed. “No big movements, Harry. You were given a bucketful of potions, and you need to rest. Madam Pomfrey’s orders.”

Harry struggled to swallow. His mouth was so dry. “Draco?” he managed somehow. For a second, a terrifying second, Harry watched as her face grew darker. “No – “

“Don’t, Harry, he’s all right. Don’t freak out, please. He’s in a rough shape, but he will make it.”

A stone the weight of the entire castle rolled off his chest. Harry drew a relieved breath, then another. “Is he – okay?” the last thing he remembered was the explosion he himself caused using Draco’s wand when he cast at Voldemort. Even before it, in Draco’s state – Harry did not even dare to imagine how he was.

“He’s seen better days,” Ron said and formed in Harry’s field of vision. “They’ve done some really nasty stuff, but he would be fine. Madam Pomfrey says it’s lucky we got him now and not later. She said he was very close.”

This did _not_ make Harry feel better. “Need to – see him – “

“Oh no you don’t,” Hermione placed a hand on one of his shoulders, Ron on the other. “Harry, you need to rest. You can see him later. The both of you have a lot of recovery to do – “

“Gerroff, get off me, I have to – “ Harry’s limbs were barely functioning, and he threw himself at them with a groan. They can’t hold him back – not any longer – he waited for so, so long, and his heart was torn into so, so many pieces, and now he could so, so not take it anymore. “’Ermione – c’mon-“

“Ms. Granger, I believe that is enough.” Harry was still a little too furious with the headmaster to feel gratitude, but he did grunt something when the silver-haired professor appeared beside his bed. “Harry has been through some terrible strain, and I believe he will not be at peace until he has seen with his own eyes that Draco is all right. Please, Mr. Weasley, will you assist? Just like that, perfect.” Harry was being hoisted up and helped to the bed next to his, around which the covers were drawn. As soon as he’d been up he understood why Hermione was reluctant to let him; he was dizzy, and if Ron hadn’t been holding on to him tightly, he would fall right down on his face. His entire body was in agony, from curling toes to grimy hair. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered at the moment but whatever lay behind the curtain.

Madam Pomfrey looked very put out, but she drew the sheets open nevertheless and revealed the cot behind it. On it lay something Harry could recognize as Draco solely because of his hair. No one had hair quite that color.

It was a damn good thing Ron was still holding him, because his knees gave out and his heart was about to crack. He had seen Draco back at the sitting room, of course, but he was without his glasses then and after some pretty heavy spells cast on his person, so he couldn’t take in any of the details. He could now. The parts of Draco that weren’t covered in bandages were in colors no human flesh should ever be; any one of the colors of the rainbow, from violet to red. His face was swollen and distorted, and his chest was barely rising and falling. Seeing him was almost more painful than Harry’s physical state. He sent a hesitant hand forward, not quite daring to touch, unable not to reach out. “Is he – will he – “

“He is going to be fine, Potter,” Madam Pomfrey said from behind him, and her voice was softer than her expression. “He’s quite the fighter, this one. Had to have a tremendous force of will to survive whatever he’s been through.”

Harry snapped at that; big, warm, unwelcome tears rolled down his cheeks, and he lost any ability to hold himself up. Ron and Hermione helped him back on his bed, where he closed his eyes and focused on breathing. It took a moment before he was able to speak again. “What happened?”

“The letter was a portkey,” Hermione hastened to fill the silence, and Harry could look at them again. “It was charmed to only be activated when you – well, when you responded to it, so Professor Dumbledore couldn’t detect it beforehand. By the time we noticed it was too late, and you were already taken back to the castle.”

“But how did you lot get there?” Harry tried to ask.

“We have been working on trying to discover the location of the castle as soon as you had been back from it, Harry,” Dumbledore said gently. “I know you were a little out of the loop – feel free to blame me for it, naturally – but we have already been quite close when the letter arrived. I did not suspect there could be a charm in it to fool me, but, well… I have already proven I can make mistakes.” His blue eyes were very sad. “I am sorry for the way I treated you this week, Harry. I know how angry and lost you were, and there should have been a better way to do it. But you are far too important, a thing which Draco knew himself, which he was willing to give his own life to protect.”

It hurt too much, and Harry was as far from forgiveness as possible. He turned to Hermione instead. “How did you find the castle in the end? Was Dobby able to bring you back?”

“No, he couldn’t. The channel into the castle was completely blocked, and apparition to anywhere near it was impossible. It was Narcissa who did it in the end,” she replied in an undertone. “She couldn’t tell us the location just like that, because it’s been charmed against it. In the end she – she used blood magic, Harry. When the situation was desperate enough – since there was no other choice – she used her blood in order to track Draco, and that led us to the castle. Snape made the potion for it. It was awful.”

Harry’s heart was five times its weight, and it was pulling him down hard. He knew very little about blood magic, but the pallor on his friends’ faces was unsettling. “What happened to her?”

“She is all right now,” Ron said quickly. He gestured further in the room to the bed beyond Draco’s. “She was pretty weak, but ever since Malfoy was brought back she recovered a little. You should have seen it, though, mate, it was mental. She went on fire!“

“What?”

“Yeah, mad, isn’t it? at first everything went dark, then suddenly her blood began to glow – just in the cauldron, then in her to, you could see every vessel glowing, it was insane – and then she suddenly went up in flames. Snape’s jaw literally fell to the floor. I don’t think it was meant to happen.”

“Then why did it?” Harry directed this question to Dumbledore, but it was Hermione who answered.

“We can’t say for sure. This type of magic often has unexpected results, but… in any case, she is all right now. Or at least, she will be.”

“Yeah, but when her veins were all lit up – “

“Stop it, Ron! Harry doesn’t want to hear about that!” Hermione shot him a very dirty look. “Anyway, since she used that spell, we were able to get there immediately. We apparated just outside the castle, all of us – Tonks and Kingsley and Mad Eye, all the people from the Order, Professor Dumbledore called them all when we waited for the potion.”

Harry had a vague memory of seeing the others there. He struggled to concentrate on the thought. “And then you – what – just stormed the castle and won?” Harry asked, brows furrowed. Hermione shrugged.

“We didn’t have too many options by then. You were in there, and we knew we don’t have much time. Professor Dumbledore said Draco won’t be able to protect you for long.”

“You – you knew he will?” Harry reluctantly looked back at him. Before the explosion he remembered being ready to be cursed again, this time by Draco, when instead he was hit with a shield. A shield so powerful, he hardly even noticed the breach into the castle; he was perfectly cocooned in Draco’s warm, soft protection. In his love. Perhaps it was a stupid way to think about it, but there in the sitting room, overwhelmed by the pain and anger and fear, that was exactly what it felt like. Like he was wrapped deep and safe in Draco’s love.

“Of course, Harry. It was very clear to me that whatever it is they have done, they will not be able to outweigh the way Draco felt about you. I was certain Voldemort would try to use him to hurt you, since he knows nothing about these matters. He would never be able to understand that love such as the one you share cannot be beat out of a person. They could not make him hurt you, is that correct?”

Harry nodded, although the motion made him choke on the lump in his throat. “He – he didn’t know me, at first. He said he didn’t love me.” It felt like the wrong thing to be caught up on, especially considering everything that happened afterwards – and beforehand – but still he had to get to the bottom of it. He was even able to be polite again to get the answers he needed. “Professor, it looked like they did something to him – to make him forget. He didn’t even know my name. And his eyes looked… empty.”

Dumbledore nodded gravely. “Lord Voldemort is very good at what he does, Harry. Unfortunately, Draco was not only tortured physically – much of what they did to him, I suspect, was mental. I believe you are correct in your assessment of Draco’s emotional state when you saw him. Although – what did you mean when you said at first?”

Harry thought about it. “There was a point there, can’t say exactly when, when he… seemed like he did know. When he looked at me, suddenly it was like he could actually _see_ me, you know? Like he knew me. And then – well, he cast the shield over me, so he must have known something.”

“Indeed, very interesting,” Dumbledore nodded, and said no more. Harry wasn’t one for patience.

“What happened then? What happened to Voldemort? To Lucius? All the Death Eaters in there?”

“You-Know-Who was the first to disappear,” Ron was kind enough to fill him in. “He must have been the only one who could apparate inside the castle, through the wards, because the other Death Eaters were stuck there. Some of them managed to jump out the windows and the holes in the wall and apparate in the air, but we got some others. Dolohov, Rowle, Avery… about five or six are now on the way to Azkaban. Mulciber is dead.” Harry found that he was automatically relieved that his explosions didn’t kill anybody, and then was mad at himself for feeling that way. He should have no qualms with killing Death Eaters by now.

“They tried to take you with them,” Hermione added. “Malfoy and Wormtail, once you blew the whole place up, before they fled. They tried with every spell they could, and Greyback tried to get to you by hand, but they couldn’t. Draco kept the shield up through it all. He was incredible, Harry. He just lay there and took it, curse after curse, and he never let the shield down.” Her eyes were full of tears, and Harry felt close to throwing up. He didn’t know what to do with all the emotions in him. There was no physical way for him to hold so many.

“They’ll try it again,” was all his lips were able to say. The more he thought about it, the more he realized he’s correct. Voldemort knew now what was the best way to hurt him and force his hand; he must have seen it in Harry when he thought he was about to die. There was no reason to think he will hesitate to do it again. “Professor, we must protect him. We have to keep him safe. If they try again – “ Harry stopped there, but he had a feeling they all knew what he wanted to say. I _f anything happens to Draco I will fucking die_.

“Understood, Harry. We will do anything in our power to guarantee his safety. He is of course quite safe here at Hogwarts – considering he will not receive any veiled portkeys from his father or his associates.” The usual twinkle returned, but Harry wasn’t in a jovial mood.

“How can we make sure he won’t?”

“Well, there’s a simple enough spell to check for these things, now that we know what to look for. I am sure there will be a way to satisfy his needs while keeping him safe. Yours too, I do believe.”

It was a little embarrassing, to hear his headmaster talking about his love life and his _needs_ or whatever, but Harry wasn’t really used to having any sort of privacy. He never had anything, not really, not for his own. Anything he was and everything he had was always public domain – everything but Draco.

He will not share him with _them_. He will not let anyone use him or get him or do any bloody thing to him again. He will not let Draco be a pawn in the attack on Harry’s life. Whatever it is he needs to do to save him, he will do.

A sudden thought made his heart tighten in his chest. “Professor – do you think I am a danger to him? that being near me will only – will only get him – “

“I think Draco has already made his choice in that regard,” Dumbledore answered evenly. “Do you remember that day, Harry, when he had to choose? When he sat in my office and I gave him the option to go back to Voldemort, or stay here with you? He chose you then. Do not take the credit from him because of what’s happened. He is legally an adult, and able to make his own decisions. Should he choose you once more, I would not advise you to stay away.”

Harry was definitely less angry with the old man now. “Thank you.” He closed his eyes, because his eyelids must have weighed about a ton and he simply couldn’t keep them up anymore. “Thank you, all of you. Thanks for getting him out of there alive. For getting both of us.”

“No problem, Harry,” Hermione whispered, and Ron clapped his shoulder very tenderly, though it still hurt like hell. “You should really rest a little now. Do you want some Dreamless Sleep or something?”

Harry was already halfway through falling asleep, so all he was able to produce was a sort of a ‘garg’ sound. He burrowed into the soft mat and the covers, trying to let their warmth settle him, but all he could think of was Draco. His Draco who was so strong, so brave. His Draco who loved him. His Draco who saved him.

Harry didn’t take the potion, but he didn’t dream at all. Or at least, he didn’t remember dreaming. When he awoke in the middle of the night in the silent infirmary, he had a slightly lemony taste in his mouth and his whole body was thrumming a single word again and again and again: _Draco_ …

***

It took two days for Harry to be able to stand without support, but even after that he didn’t leave the infirmary for a minute. He would not listen to Hermione and Ron’s desperate pleas for him to sleep in his own bed, to eat at the Great Hall, to bloody shower in his own room. He just didn’t care about any of these things. Every minute of every day he spent by Draco’s side, occasionally getting up to check on Narcissa, even more rarely doing some homework. He had no space in his mind for class. He had no space for anything but the boy on the hospital cot, who didn’t wake up even a full week later. Harry was worried out of his bloody mind. Madam Pomfrey and Dumbledore kept saying Draco was okay, that he will make a full recovery, but then why hasn’t he yet? Even Narcissa was beginning to show some signs of life. She was still incredibly weak, and hardly conscious, but still at times she was. Harry sat by Draco’s bed, holding his hand, waiting. On several occasions he thought he would die there if he had to, but he tried not to be so morose. No one had to die now. They can just… maybe they can just heal.

Draco looked like Draco now. His skin was its normal pale, his wounds and bruises and cuts healed and gone. Since Harry never left his side he saw and even helped Madam Pomfrey change Draco’s dressings, wash him, feed him. He loved taking care of him, if only Draco would wake up. There was so much he wanted to tell him, so much he wanted to ask, and so much he needed to see. Harry’s nights were an uncomfortable array of blurry nightmares and cold sweat. His nightmares weren’t even about the torture he’d suffered, which he would at least be able to understand. Instead they were – he could only assume – the things he imagined Voldemort did to Draco. It was hazy, because he really had no idea, but it left him panting and shivering and even shrieking sometimes. Madam Pomfrey insisted he would take a potion for his dreams because, she claimed, “she wasn’t able to sleep with all the racket he made every night”. Still she said it in a very soft tone, and she didn’t force him to leave, so he took it. It didn’t really help.

On Friday Harry just couldn’t stand it anymore. All he wanted, for more than two weeks, was to hold him. That’s all he bloody needed, and there Draco was, right next to him! he decided not to wait any longer. He drew the curtains around them so they’d have some privacy, then climbed on the bed and practically squeezed Draco in his arms. If somewhere in him Harry believed this would be the thing to bring Draco back, he was disappointed; there was no change in the state of the unconscious blond. But at least Harry could breathe properly now, with Draco between his arms, and that was something too. That night he couldn’t sleep at all, but at least he was peaceful.

Minutes wore onto hours that passed as days and began to lose meaning. Harry’s hope, constantly diminishing, painful against his ribs, was at a critical point. He didn’t know what to do. Other than sitting next to Draco every day and holding him every night, he had no idea how he could possibly help him. So he sat. And held. And waited.

***

Draco didn’t know why, but he wasn’t in so much pain anymore. He even felt like he’d been washed, as the distinct reek that followed him everywhere seemed to disappear. When he opened his eyes he realized he’d been clothed, too. Odd. For a moment he surmised that he must have died, and this must be the _beyond_. But the curtains around him were oddly familiar and he could feel his heart hammering in his chest. Not dead, then. But what? He felt nothing but a strong sense of incredulity. He so hated not knowing where he was when coming to.

Then there were voices and Draco was astounded to figure out he can hear. Back at the sitting room, the last place he ever expected to see in this world, he stopped being able to do that. His hearing, along with any other sense he may have had, evaporated into the air and – he believed – was forever gone. The last thing he could feel were the curses hitting him, pretty damn familiar by now, and the last conscious thought he remembered was _finally, finally it will end_. But it didn’t. He was alive and there were people behind the curtains, and that meant he had to do some serious thinking and quick. The only problem was his mind felt like butter left out in the sun, and it was dripping down his skull unhelpfully. His body may have been healed, or he had become numb to the pain, but it didn’t mean he knew what the hell to do with it. He had no idea what happened after he passed out or where he was now. Did Harry win? Or did he... the thought was unbearable, and the sick feeling in his stomach was pushed aside in lack of interest. Something in the thickest part of him said _get out,_ but he didn’t know why or where to. Other than _not dead_ , he had no idea what he was. The only thing he could be absolutely sure about was this sobering fact: before, there was the pain, the terrible, terrible pain. Now it abated somewhat. But before he could reach any conclusions from it, the curtains were drawn open and his heart sank to his toes.

He shut his eyes immediately, trying very hard to calm down the hysterical beating of his heart. He just didn’t have the courage to look and see who was there. If it was his father, then – then – Draco really didn’t know what then. The possibility was just too awful. When a few minutes passed and no one addressed him, no one cursed or shouted or touched him, Draco began to be able to use his other apparently existing senses. Eyes shut, it was his hearing again which took charge; Draco thought he could distinguish the shuffling of paper. Someone was reading, perhaps? Writing a letter? Beyond that there was the clinking of glass instrument and – was that a soft humming sound, coming from a distance? At that Draco had to open his eyes. No Death Eater who respected himself would be caught humming.

The amount of relief that washed over him when he saw it was Harry next to him was so great, he didn’t even feel sick. He exhaled the largest amount of air in the world, but for the life of him he could not move. He wanted to jump at him, to collapse into his arms, to cry his name out loud, but even opening his mouth was a little beyond him. Draco was in full panic mode now; he tried to wiggle his fingers, to adjust the angle of his head, but everything was difficult and suddenly the pain was back. No. Gods, no. Harry! He shouted in his mind, then again, louder, Harry! But no voice came out of his lips. Nothing. Draco looked all around him in hysteria, his eyes being the only thing he could move, and again his surroundings made no sense to him. where was he? What was happening here? What sort of dark magic was he under?

But the white curtains were – and Harry, just sitting next to him immersed in some book, looking like all was well – and the woman wearing that uniform, fiddling with beakers – Draco closed his eyes again and forced himself to think. Now was not the time to lose his mind all over again. He had already lost everything and regained it and –

Hogwarts. He was at Hogwarts. This was the infirmary, and that woman over there was Madam Pomfrey, and Harry was there because he won, he fucking did it, and they made it out alive.

Exhalation was a little more than he could bear to contain at the moment, and the next second Draco was out again. It didn’t matter. He was safe, and he was here, and everything was going to be all right. They made it out of the castle. Harry was alive. Draco, amazingly, was alive. Even out of consciousness, there was a big difference in Draco’s body, which seemed to relax somehow. Had Harry been looking at that exact moment, he would have noticed the softening of his face. But Harry wasn’t looking. He was trying too hard to focus on the study book, and his eyes were red and hardly even able to see anything at all. Draco floated around the relatively pain-free space ins his mind and waited for the next opportunity to resurface. He wasn’t frightened anymore. Harry was there, and he would take care of him. He could hardly wait to kiss the hell out of that boy’s stupid, stupid face.

***

Then, on a particularly dreadful Saturday, a miracle happened.

It was raining all night, and the morning was even more bleak. Truth be told, Harry liked it. He thought it was suitable. After all, the past two weeks spent in that goddamn infirmary felt just like that. He was definitely not holding his breath for a miracle, not on a day like that. Harry wasn’t even near his bed when it happened; he was helping Madam Pomfrey make the potions she would later give Draco, when he suddenly heard a little groan. It took precisely eight milliseconds for him to run to the bed, not that anyone counted, and he saw the grey eyes he loved so much open. Open and aware. Open and there. Open and loving.

He didn’t even pause for a second before he surged forward, but the kiss was nothing but gentle. Harry wanted to crush him in his embrace, to consume him entirely in his kiss, but instead he was very soft and very careful. His hands held the precious head up, his lips pressed softly against Draco’s, and his eyes stayed open. At first he was scared – could it be that he’s doing the wrong thing? But Draco practically melted into his arms, and he kissed him back. Harry’s heart swelled in his chest until there was no more room for air. But he didn’t need air anymore. He needed Draco.

“How are you feeling?” he asked as soon as he was able to let go. Draco looked at him with a hint of a smirk which made that previously swollen heart even larger.

“Like shit,” was his elegant response, and Harry loved him.

“God, Draco,” he chuckled hysterically, rubbing his eyes with one hand while the other stayed on Draco’s shoulder. “You fucking scared me.”

“Sorry,” Draco whispered, but there was a smile in his eyes.

“Do you need any water? A potion for the pain? What do you want?” Draco shook his head, but it took a while for him to be able to say more. “What is it, my love? Anything you need. Anything you want.”

“Just you,” Draco whispered, and already his eyes were closing. Harry’s ribs gave up and cracked open, and now his heart took every single inch of his chest. Harry climbed up onto the bed and held Draco, and the little approving ‘hmm’ he got was the single best sound he’d ever heard. He didn’t fall asleep that night either, but he didn’t really need sleep anymore. Just like he didn’t need air, or his ribs, or anything in fact that didn’t start and end with Draco. Now that he had him back – now that they were truly together again – he could be calm.


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, everybody, this is the last chapter! The next entry will be the epilogue. Do prepare for a shocking amount of fluff (when taking into consideration the last few chapters, at least).

They waited three more days, by which time Draco was able to stay awake for longer than a few minutes in a row, before they had their big talk. They, unfortunately, being Dumbledore too; Harry would have much rathered doing it by himself. But since technically, the headmaster was the one who saved Draco – whereas Harry only managed to snivel helplessly at his feet – Dumbledore probably earned the right to be there, so Harry tried not to complain too much. They sat beside Draco’s bed and avoided looking at each other. At least, Harry was. He had no idea what the old man was doing because – well – he wasn’t looking at him.

“Draco,” the headmaster said nonetheless, “I am sure you have a lot of questions.”

Harry scowled. That was a good way to open this conversation, and he would have been happier to have more reasons to be upset with the man. Draco, on the other hand, didn’t seem to mind. He nodded and fixed his gaze on his hands, which were clasped in his lap.

“My mother,” he said at once, not meeting any of their gazes. “Is she – what’s happened to her?”

“That was, in fact, a question I meant to ask you. You would know by now that she used blood magic in order to track you.” Draco nodded hesitantly. “When she did, did you perhaps feel it? do you remember sensing anything when the spell was cast?”

Draco nodded again. He was curled into himself, back against the headboard, and he looked so small and vulnerable that Harry ached to hold him. “I felt it, yes. It was… I didn’t know what it was at the moment. I was – not exactly myself. I thought I was hearing bells.”

“Bells?” Harry asked, confused. Draco glimpsed at him.

“I thought it was you in the beginning,” he admitted softly. “I thought – because I heard your name, and it rang in my head, clearing the fog. I thought you saved me.”

“I do believe Harry has, to a certain level, saved you,” Dumbledore said, not unkindly. “In the same measure that you, in turn, saved him. Other than the bells, what else do you remember?”

“I thought I heard her voice, right before I cast the shield. Like she was calling me. Then – I don’t really know anymore. I was sort of speared on the shield itself, and everything was a little blurry. It felt like – “ Draco paused, and there was fear in the grey of his eyes. “Professor, it felt like I was burning, but I didn’t feel the flames. Could it be that – through the spell – “

Dumbledore sighed. “That does explain it, yes, to some extent. While your mother held the connection between you open, using your blood – as you are kin, I suspect she was able to intercept and take the effect of the shield spell herself.” His next words had to be a reaction to Draco’s face, because he looked positively sick: “I do believe it was her choice, though. The magic didn’t do this to her. She took it to save your life, just like you risked yourself in order to save her. I think balance was kept in a truly fascinating way that evening.”

“So she’s in this state because of me.” Harry wasn’t sure Draco even heard the last remark.

“No, Draco. Your spell is not the sole damage she sustained that night. Even before you ever brought her back from Lord Voldemort’s residence, she was already rather frail. I’m afraid they were using her magic to influence you, Draco. Without her being aware, of course. When she used the blood magic – well, there was evidence that suggested it was not done for the first time.”

Perhaps Draco was paying attention, because he looked even more ill. “What sort of influence?”

“You would have to tell us. Perhaps… feelings that you felt and couldn’t quite place, or maybe even an inconspicuous, elementary sort of atmosphere of darkness.”

Draco shook his head. “I don’t think – I don’t know. All my thoughts were my own. After she was taken… well, even if there was a spell there, I don’t think it would have made too much of a difference.” He sniffled. “Professor, will she be all right?”

Harry realized he hadn’t breathed in a while when all the air squeezed out of his chest. He was so tense, his fingers were shaking. “Yes, Draco. I believe she will be perfectly fine. The burns are almost entirely healed, and the effects of the blood spell should not be long lasting. It may take some time, but she will be all right.”

The sigh of relief Draco expelled could be felt all the way to Harry’s chair. “Thank you, sir. I – thank you.”

Harry too felt almost sick with relief. “You saved her, Draco. You really did it.” he wished he could have said it without tears in his eyes, but what the heck. “You saved her, my love. And me.”

Draco didn’t say anything to that. He didn’t even look his way. It was Dumbledore who spoke next. “You should not judge yourself too harshly, Draco. Without you there, Harry would have been dead. Your shield was the only reason Voldemort wasn’t able to kill him.” A warm, uncomfortable feeling in his chest reminded Harry why the old man wasn’t altogether bad.

“I was the one who brought him there in the first place,” Draco whispered to his hands. “It was my fault he was in danger.”

“Draco, it wasn’t,” Harry panted before the headmaster had a chance to reply. “It was me, not you. don’t you remember? You begged me not to go in the first place. It was my idea, my failure, and if it wasn’t for you I would have been dead – not just then, but already two weeks before that.”

“In my humble opinion, the real culprit was neither of you,” Dumbledore said heavily. “I think you both could do with laying some of the blame where it is due at last. Partly, at my door, and partly at Lord Voldemort’s. Harry, Draco, I never should have left you to your own devices to rescue Narcissa. I should have known better what it is like to be under such pressure, especially after last year. But even I am not vain enough to assume all the blame – not when Voldemort was the one who initiated the situation.”

Harry gave him a sidelong look; the professor looked even older and more tired than he’d remembered. He nodded. “It was Voldemort,” he agreed in a harsh voice. “He was the one who threatened her. He was the one who tortured you. Who – “ here his voice broke, and he wasn’t quite sure how to proceed. They hadn’t discussed yet what happened to Draco all those days he was captured, and Harry was not at all sure he’s strong enough to hear.

“I think it may be time,” Dumbledore said incredibly softly, as if he could maybe hear Harry’s thoughts, “for Draco to tell us what exactly happened during his captivity. That is, of course, if you are ready to speak.”

Draco didn’t look ready. He didn’t look even close to ready. In fact, if ready was on ground level, Draco was somewhere atop mount Everest. However, he straightened a little on the bed, and flattened his hands on his thighs. “I suppose – yes, I think I should.”

“You don’t have to,” Harry reminded him gently. He wanted so bad to touch him, but wasn’t sure if it’d be the right thing or not. The abuse Draco had been through – and he had absolutely no idea – but then Draco’s hand reached for his and he grabbed it, squeezing a sigh of relief. The hand was warm and rather clammy, but it was his Draco, and he wanted to support him so bad it was physically hurting him.

“I know. I don’t – particularly want to, either. But I think you deserve to know. And if Professor Dumbledore can tell me – what exactly happened – “

“I will make every attempt to,” the old man said pleasantly, and Draco nodded. He began telling them in a subdued, quiet voice all the terrible things they have done. When he stopped at Bellatrix’s warning, Harry’s hand slipped out of his and landed loudly on the bed frame.

“Sorry,” Harry hurried to say, aghast. He must have been as white as a sheet, and he could feel his heart racing inside him fifty times its normal speed. He wanted to be there for Draco, he really did, but he just wasn’t certain he could take it. Lowering his eyes to the ground he tried to stabilize his breathing.

“They didn’t, Harry. They never… none of them… they didn’t touch me like that.” Draco sounded positively heartbroken. “But it doesn’t mean I didn’t betray you there. I – when she made that threat I didn’t think I would cave. I thought I will die beforehand, because that was the last thing that I had, the last thing they hadn’t been able to cut out of me. But I couldn’t handle it. They sent – they sent my father – “

Harry said something he normally wouldn’t in the presence of a teacher. “They did _what_?”

“He said he w-will – that he was sent to break me in,” Draco’s voice was barely audible. His head was bent so low, his hair touched the covers. “And I just couldn’t let it happen, Harry. So I gave them you. I gave them… I gave them me. Everything. All I had.”

“Draco,” Harry said, appalled, horrified, and then as no words were enough, he simply leaned forward to hold him. “Draco, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…”

Draco cried silently into the groove of his neck, and his sobs rocked them both. Harry’s mind was completely blank. The horror of the very idea – Lucius even _suggesting_ doing that – touching Draco in that way – it made his head reel. “I’m sorry, Harry… I couldn’t stand it…”

Very softly Harry pulled back and brought Draco’s head up. He wanted to be extremely clear. “It’s not your fault,” he breathed softly into the pale face. “Draco, I don’t blame you for that, not even a little. That wasn’t betraying me, what you did, do you hear me? I can’t believe you went through all of the torture – that you even considered – please, Draco, say you understand. This is not your fault. You did everything you could, _everything_. I admire you.”

Draco shook his head. “You don’t understand. When I gave up – I wasn’t even myself after that. I lost everything, all I had before the castle – who I was – it was all gone. The Dark Lord was all they kept in me, all I had going, and I wasn’t going to come back. Ever. I was going to stay there and be nothing. Until… well, until you. Until you saved me.”

“How did that happen, Draco?” Dumbledore asked, and Harry was startled to remember he was still there.

“I’m not sure. When the Dark Lord said Harry’s last name, it was like something clicked into place in me. But it still wasn’t… it wasn’t enough. There were other words, things he said about me, about him, and it was becoming a little sharper. And then when he said his first name – actually, it was the nausea. I felt it again and it helped clear everything else. It brought me back.”

“Nausea?” Harry asked, baffled.

“When they took all those memories from me it made me – react a certain way. To… some things. When I would think about them, I would get ill.”

“Things like me?”

Draco struggled to look at him. “Yes. Things like you. Actually, just you.”

“Do you still feel it, Draco? A physical reaction to Harry?” Dumbledore asked conversationally, as if they were discussing the cost of slug juice. Harry stared in disbelief. He could not believe what he was hearing.

“To a certain extent, yes,” Draco whispered to no one in particular. “It’s not… it doesn’t matter. I can fight it. But it was strong enough to get past the fog.”

Harry didn’t know how the hell he’s supposed to react to that. Of course he was very happy that Draco was able to come back, but – the very thought of him makes Draco sick? That couldn’t be good. “Professor, is there something we can do about it? the nausea thing?”

“We would need to look into it, of course. To try and determine what caused it and if there is any lingering damage that isn’t entirely psychological. I do have a suspicion it might have something to do with that collar on your neck.”

Draco swallowed heavily. “About that. I wanted to ask – Is there a way to remove it?”

“None that I have detected so far. Do not despair, though. I am positive we will find a solution.”

Harry tried to calm himself down from that whole ‘Thinking-about-me-makes-my-boyfriend-ill’. There were other, more important things to consider here. For example, the fact Draco is all right. that he wasn’t raped, thank all the bloody gods. That he returned to himself, was able to return to him. Whether or not he actually wanted to be with him, now. He let Dumbledore ask some more technical questions and sat quietly in his seat, trying not to sulk. When the headmaster was gone and only the two of them remained, Harry leapt to his feet.

“Are you leaving?” Draco asked, and Harry couldn’t quite tell if he sounded upset or relieved. He knew he should get to the bottom of this thing, now, before it drove him mad. He just didn’t know how to. How do you even start a question like that? Especially with the way the thought that maybe Draco wouldn’t want him now was like a knife twisting in his gut. He won’t be able to take it. He won’t be able to carry on without him. “Harry, are you all right?”

He snapped back to reality. “Yes, sorry. I’m not going anywhere, I just… wanted to bring you more water.”

Draco watched him refill the glass from the jug and resume his seat. He was kind enough not to ask why Harry didn’t just use his wand. “I would understand if you don’t want to stay.”

His Quidditch skills were the sole reason the glass wasn’t currently on the floor. “What?” Harry gasped in utter shock.

“After all I did… Honestly, I wouldn’t blame you. You don’t need to – stay with me because you feel guilty, or something like that. I don’t want you to. I… it won’t be fair.” Harry watched his grey eyes, so hesitant, with those darned silvery lines running through them that stole his heart.

“Do you want me to leave?” Harry tried not to sound like the question ripped him in two. He didn’t want to make Draco feel guilty. If he wanted Harry to leave, he would just go, and he will not make him feel bad about it. “Draco, really, it’s okay. I know you’ve had… so much shit happen to you. I hurt you, I know that. I hurt you bad. And if whenever you think of me you get – you want to throw up – “

He paused when Draco’s hand grabbed his arm. “Potter,” he said, but Harry had to get it all out in one go, or he would never be able to leave.

“No, Draco, seriously. I love you so much, I can’t bear the thought I’d be hurting you or causing you any sort of pain. You have to tell me the truth. If you don’t want me, I’ll go. I don’t have to be here. I don’t have to do anything. Please, just tell me what you want.”

“I thought Gryffindors are meant to be brave,” Draco said softly, and Harry’s eyes tore back to him. “Harry, you nitwit. Of course I want you. There is nothing I want more in the world.”

Well, there was not much he could have done after that, was there? Harry jumped at him like he would to a raft at sea; Draco was the only solid thing in a world that sank and crashed around them. He held him so tight, it was possible the blond was not breathing. They stayed like this for the longest time, holding each other, shamelessly crying into each other’s arms like there was nothing to it at all, and perhaps there wasn’t. Harry wasn’t exactly content, but he was happy. All the rest they could solve later.

After that Madam Pomfrey started nagging him about going back to sleeping in his dorm, but somehow – even though she definitely saw him leave every evening – Harry spent every night at Draco’s bed. Really, he thought, if Dumbledore wanted to stop them, he would have taken Harry’s cloak. As it were he was living a sort of a double life; during the day he went to most of his classes and pretended like he cared about things like homework and tests. Every evening after class he dashed to the infirmary, where he would engage Draco in a game of exploding cards, watched him have decent level games of chess with Ron, or simply go over the study material when Hermione was there. Then, every single night without fail, they slept together, huddled in the small bed like it was any sort of comfortable. Harry would not have changed that for the world.

Draco was still too weak to go anywhere, but Narcissa was moved to St. Mungo’s for more advanced medical care. Dumbledore assigned a member of the Order to watch her, to assuage Draco’s constant anxiety, but Harry agreed they should find a better solution. He was desperate to find something for her, but other than letting Hermione read all there was about blood magic and its possible effects, he really had nothing else to do. He knew Draco was very concerned about her, but when Harry was around he tried to put on a happy face. At least, Draco told him one night, she wasn’t with Lucius or Voldemort anymore, and Harry agreed. That was the only bright side regarding her situation.

There were more bright sides when it came to Draco. For example, he was now able to walk, even if only gingerly. There was also the fact that now Harry and he could be together officially, and really, there was no way to hide the fact from the school when Harry had been by his bedside for nearly a month. Harry was extremely happy not to have to keep his love a secret, and took extra pleasure in haunting Crabbe and Goyle repeatedly. He would tell Draco little stories about how he pesters them here and there, and to that Draco would laugh – really laugh, like he did back then, before everything went to utter shite. Harry treasured those moments immensely, especially as they were so rare. His love, already of incredible proportions, kept growing. He thought that soon he will need to find another body in which to cram it all.

The night before Draco was meant to be released back to his dorm, Harry gave him a present. It was a very small shard of a mirror hung on a string. “Is that a necklace?” Draco asked, quirking his eyebrow. “Very sweet of you, but I don’t often wear jewelry. I find it distracts from my natural shine.”

Harry chuckled and kissed his forehead. “No, you tosser. It’s a communication mirror. I got it from – Sirius gave it to me, last year. I never got to use it with him.” his voice was a little hoarse, but he soldiered on. “I broke it in two, so we each can have a piece. I charmed it so it wouldn’t cut you, and no one else can take it off you. When we finally get this ugly thing out of the way – “ he tugged the leather collar around his neck and was, as always, surprised by how cold it felt – “then you’d be able to wear only what you want. But until then I thought it could be a good idea. So we don’t get… separated again.”

Draco’s smile was warm enough to melt his heart. “Very well, Potter, you big softie. Can you…?” Harry gently placed it around his neck and hid it under his shirt. “Thank you. I love it. I think it may be the best present I ever got.”

“Really?” Harry rolled his eyes and tucked himself into bed beside him. “You, mister spoiled as they come? You never got a – I don’t know, an island, or something as gruesome as that?”

Draco laughed softly. “Never an island, no. My father offered to buy me a town once, but – “ he stopped abruptly, biting his lip. Harry squeezed him in a hug.

“It’s all right, Draco. You don’t have to think about him ever again. That fucking bastard – I’m going to kill him, right after I kill his lord. You’ll see. I will get them both.”

“It’s not that I don’t believe you,” Draco said solemnly, “it’s just that… I’ve seen what they can do. I felt it. It’s – I never want them to do the same to you. I never want you to go near them. I know it’s not rational, and I know it will have to happen at some point, but… Harry, I’m so scared.”

Harry held him even tighter. “I know. I understand. But it will all be okay, Draco, I promise. I will not let them hurt you ever again. Ever. I would sooner die.”

“Please don’t say that,” Draco rolled his eyes then buried his head in Harry’s chest. “I’m still trying to recover from the last time you almost died.”

“Okay, okay,” Harry laughed and kissed his head again and again. “I won’t die, then. I’ll just get them and then come running back to you.” he tensed a little when a thought came to him. Over the past weeks he’d seen Draco’s body quite often, and he couldn’t help but remember those scars and burns he noticed the beginning of the year. Some of the old ones were still there, thought most of the new scars had been healed. “Draco… those burns you had, and the scars. You said they weren’t from Greyback or from Voldemort.”

“They weren’t,” Draco said to his collarbone.

“Were they… did your father give you those?”

Now Draco detached himself from Harry, but he didn’t quite look him in the eye. “I thought he wanted to make me better. Everything he did – I thought it was because he wanted to help me. To make me worthy of my name.” he gave a small, sarcastic laughter. “I suppose he missed the mark with that one.”

“No,” Harry was hardly able to suppress his anger. “If anyone wasn’t worthy it’s him, Draco. I can’t believe it… how long has he been abusing you like that?”

Draco shrugged. “I don’t know. Ever since… I don’t know. I was young.”

“I’m so sorry.” He got a very odd look.

“It wasn’t your fault, Potter. Don’t go all martyr on me on that one.”

“No, I know, it’s just… maybe if I had known sooner, I wouldn’t have been so – and we wouldn’t have been so – “ Harry’s cheeks were bright red. “I know it doesn’t work like that, but it would have been nice if we were friends sooner. Imagine how much trouble it could have saved us.”

Draco laughed. “I honestly can’t. You were way too much of a prat to be my friend when you were younger, Potter. Only this year you grew to be somewhat tolerable.”

Harry scoffed, but then he sobered. “Wait, Draco, stop. We were talking about something else. something serious.”

“But I don’t want to talk about that,” Draco said petulantly. “Tomorrow night I will be back in my bed in Slytherin, where even though I’m sure you can manage to find your way into, the awkward levels are going to be significantly higher. Can’t we just enjoy tonight? we’ll talk about depressing abuse and horrendous parents some other time. Please.”

Harry drew a deep breath. He couldn’t refuse Draco if he tried. “Fine. If you’re sure. What do you want to talk about, then?”

“Anything else. Something fun.”

“So…” Harry lay back on the pillow and Draco snuggled into him, placing his head on Harry’s chest, “you think I would be able to… slither in your bed?”

Draco hit him. Hard. “Gods, Potter. Your puns are even worse than they had been. I think I’d have to send you to a crash course in proper joke making.”

Harry laughed and ran his fingers through the silky blond hair. “I dunno. I kind of like bad jokes. I think it’s a big part of my charm.”

“Trust me, it's not,” Draco said, but his voice was dripping with affection. Harry couldn’t help but kiss him.

“Fine, then, what is?”

He pretended to think about it for a second, for which Harry playfully nipped his ear. “Oh, all right, you impatient Gryffindor. I suppose your appalling candor, squeamish naivety and goddamn hopefulness are all quite alluring. Not to mention your dashing good looks, your unbelievable kindness and your indisputable charisma. Yuck, listen to me, I sound like a love-struck child. But it’s true, Harry. You are – damn it, you are fantastic. You are a good person, and you were patient enough to let me be one, too. I will never be able to thank you enough.” Harry was far too moved to answer immediately, so he gathered the Slytherin in his arms until he heard a gasp. “All right, you lunatic, no reason to smother me!”

Harry was strangely breathless. He just felt so much. “You’re pretty great, yourself.”

“I know,” Draco raised an eyebrow. “I’m a goddamned present, Potter. You should know you are incredibly lucky.”

“I do,” Harry said and kissed him again. He found it hard to believe that tomorrow night they will not sleep together. Well, he reckoned as Draco shifted in the bed to make himself comfortable, they didn’t _have_ to stay apart. Like Draco said, Harry had his ways. There were covers around the four-poster beds, and Harry had the cloak, and the map… yes, he decided and grabbed the blond to him. no reason for them to suffer. There has been so, so much of that, they really didn’t need any more. From now until the end of the year it will be nothing but fun, in-your-face, lovey-dovey kind of thing that would probably make Draco nauseous all over again. Harry smiled into the blond hair and kissed it softly.

“Good night, Draco. I love you.”

“Good night, Harry, you huge prat. I love you too.”

This time he slept, and his dreams were entirely and exceedingly sweet.


	37. Epilogue

In the middle of April Draco was finally released from the infirmary. Thanks to Hermione’s insistent nagging, he was barely behind on any of his subjects, and was able to return to class at full speed by the beginning of May, when they all prepared for their end of the year exams. Harry was a little worse off than him. they studied together – or at least tried to study – most days now. But every time they sat together Harry’s eyes found their way from the page and – hop! – back to Draco, so he didn’t do a lot of actual learning. He couldn’t really bring himself to care about it. He knew Hermione would eventually cave and give him her notes anyway.

There were far more important things to do. For example; sitting by the lake with Draco, Ron and Hermione. Holding Draco’s hand in the corridors. Visiting Hagrid for some terrible scones. Flying with Ron and Draco in the Quidditch pitch. Kissing Draco every single opportunity he got. 

People took some time getting used to the fact they were now officially together, but Harry didn’t let it bother him too much. He had a hard time trying to decide what vexed the female population of the castle more; the fact that Draco was Harry’s boyfriend, or the fact Harry was Draco’s. It didn’t really matter. His friends, everyone who was important to him, accepted them with open arms. The rest… well, he wasn’t entirely _tolerant_ , but he honestly didn’t care. He hexed Nott when the stupid git made a snide remark about Draco one time in class, and after that people sort of refrained from addressing the subject when he was nearby. Which was fine by him. he didn’t really care what people were saying behind his back; years of experience left him rather immune. And the silence around them made it easier to just do what he wanted with Draco, which was everything in the bloody world, so he was happy.

There was one thing he did without telling Draco. When he was still in the infirmary, Draco insisted he didn’t want Harry to do anything to Crabbe and Goyle that wasn’t more serious than the odd hex. He said they were nothing but little fish, that he didn't care for them at all, that he stopped a long time ago, but Harry wasn’t all that lenient. When Draco was supposed to go back to Slytherin, Harry cornered the two monsters in a corridor leading to the dungeons. He explained in rather clear terms what he expected from them – namely, to stay the _fuck_ away from his boyfriend, never to show their face in his presence and to make sure their sorry little arses never even accidentally hurt him – and also what would be the repercussions should they fail to comply. It was almost surprising how fast they understood him, considering who he was talking to, but they did. Unable to resist himself, Harry shot one final hex at them as they ran away from him in terror; he didn’t even think before he cast it, but when he realized what he had done, there were actual tears of laughter in his eyes. The two boys ran holding their behinds, from which little piggy tails, similar to the one Hagrid gave Dudley back in the day, twirled pinkly. Harry heard they had to go to Madam Pomfrey to get them removed. Draco, who was still focusing on sorting himself back in his own dorm, never noticed. Harry didn’t think he’d be too mad if he ever did find out, but decided to keep it from him all the same. After all, he didn’t do it for Draco. That one he did for himself.

In no place was it easier to see Draco’s recovery as Defence class. For their final exam they had to face a scenario of a bustling street which was populated by civilians – red figures – and bad guys painted in blue. By then it was no secret that Harry and Draco were an item, and no one was surprised when they were able to smash the competition to bits. Ernie and Neville, who had been suffering from their performance all year long, were finally happy.

Harry blinked and glanced behind his shoulder. The simulation was truly magnificent. It really felt like they were out on the street, and not in some deserted classroom in the castle. He could _smell_ the grease from the chippy in the corner of the street, it was that realistic. There was a distinct Diagon-Ally-vibe to the place; the emulation was obviously of a magical street, as the store outside which Harry was standing had a terrific display of magic carpets and little toy brooms. There was even litter on the pavement; Harry saw a chocolate frog wrapper blowing in the wind. 

“On your right, Harry,” Draco exclaimed out of nowhere and ducked to avoid a spell shot at him from one of the blue figures. “Longbottom, down!”

Harry’s head zoomed back to the others. They were all taking cover further down the street; Draco, nearest to him, hopped into an alleyway; Neville crouched behind a bin; Ernie was almost out of sight, running in their direction and hopping between lampposts. Harry effortlessly got rid of the blue figure Draco pointed out, which was indeed coming towards him fast gliding like an odd dementor, then turned to look with pride as Neville managed to avoid a beam of red light. “Brilliant!” he yelled and aimed at another blue man. “Draco, straight ahead, a civilian – “

He didn’t even have to finish his sentence; Draco dashed out of the shadows, skidded on his knees towards a deserted shopfront and blasted the blue figure coming in great speed, keeping the red one – a short one, probably meant to be a child – free from harm. Ernie gave a loud whoop.

“Four more to go!” Neville shouted, and they all regrouped behind a wall covered in posters. Harry took another second to appreciate his surroundings; Professor Electra really did an incredible job with the magic here. Even the air was crisp, everything was so –

A loud _bang_ brought him back to his senses, and he just spotted the smoke from the corner of his eye. He turned his awed head to Draco, who’s wand was still drawn, and wore a devilish smile on his face. “Don’t worry,” he assured him. “I have your back.”

“All right, three now,” Neville said, and Harry wondered when he became the leader of their little team. He didn’t mind it in the least. It was great to have someone else in charge. “I think I can make out one – Malfoy, do you see it, behind the trees over there? Ernie, Harry, do you think you can cover – I will get the other one by that bench.”

They moved as one unit, spells blasting loud noises and blinding flashes. Neville got his figure no bother, and Draco was running in earnest towards his with Ernie keeping an eye for the others. Harry grinned like a maniac. Draco moved swiftly, gracefully, like he always bloody did, and it was a sight to be seen. That body – now so much better fed, far less brittle, slick and slender in a very appealing manner – made him hot in a way that wasn’t at all to do with the adrenaline rush. He could watch this all day, every day. With a slight effort he took his eyes off of Draco, just in time – “Ernie, watch out, one’s coming right at you!”

The Hufflepuff aimed a few shots at the blue figure, but missed. Neville rushed in to help him, but by then the last figure was approaching them too – they were stranded in the dead center of the street, and Harry felt panic rising in him as if they were really in a fight. He could just see Draco there, quite far but perhaps not too far. They made eye contact. There was even a nod.

Harry sprinted like he never ran before – well, perhaps he had run like that, but who had time to think about that? He had stiches in his side by the time he reached the two boys, and panting he crouched to avoid a spell shot right to his face. With all the air he had in him he shouted – “Expelliarmus!” and the figure disappeared in a large crack. On the other side of Neville, Draco got rid of his one with an exceptionally aimed “Stupefy!”. They got top marks on their test, and Neville even shook Draco’s hand after that. Harry was ecstatic.

Of course, not everything was perfect. There was still the daunting task ahead of them – Harry will have no choice but to face Voldemort again at some point, and he was more than terrified to think what might happen to Draco because of it. It wasn’t just that; sometimes he thought he caught the blond looking at him a little funny, or making a slight face like he was in pain or ill or something. Harry knew Draco was still struggling with the effects of the torture he’d suffered, although Draco vehemently claimed he was fine. They would need to discuss it, sooner or later. Harry tried to be very considerate and extremely delicate. He made sure in whatever way was humanly possible that Draco really did want to be with him, and so far it seemed like he did. There was such sincerity in his voice when he said he loved Harry, and such happiness in his eyes when they were together… no, Harry didn’t have doubts. He knew Draco loved him. And he loved him back, Merlin help him, so much it was slightly ridiculous. Ron and Hermione made constant fun of him. He was truly happy.

They didn’t talk in so many words about the summer and what will happen then. Harry was fairly certain he will be spending the time in Grimmauld Place, and in his mind it was a definite Draco would be coming with him. Frankly, he didn’t see it going any other way. But most of the time he tried not to think about it, because it was useless. What will happen will, as stupid as it may sound, happen. There was not much to do about that. In the meantime, though, there was a lot to do about right now. He was young, and he was in love, and he had everything he needed in order to be content. A warm bed, hot food, friends who loved him, and his Draco. Basically, Harry needed for nothing, and from what he could see same went for Draco. Narcissa was making a steady recovery at St. Mungo’s, and Dumbledore promised them they would be able to go visit her soon enough. For the first time in a long while, Harry felt like things were going the right way.

Not every night now, but most nights, Harry slept cuddled up with Draco. Sometimes he’d sneak into Slytherin using his cloak, but most times Draco came to stay with him in Gryffindor. Harry didn’t say anything, but obviously he preferred it this way; even Draco admitted the dungeons were creepy.

Harry was meant to be settling for sleep, but he got caught staring at Draco getting ready. This was a dangerous thing; he just found the boy so bloody mesmerizing, it was hard to look away. Harry watched him shrug off his robes and for an instant – a glorious, moonlit instant – Harry was privy to an expanse of smooth, pale skin, practically shimmering. His hand did the only reasonable thing and reached forward, touching softly. Draco looked at him, eyebrow quirked.

“Good Gods, Potter, will you wait a damn minute?” but he was grinning. Harry wanted to kiss him so bad.

“Impatient Gryffindor,” he answered with a shrug. Draco’s perfect grin widened.

“Remind me again why I agreed to sleep here? You people honestly do not know how to regulate the temperature in your dorms. It’s too bloody hot in here.”

“I think it’s because of you,” Harry replied innocently, and Draco shook his head.

“No, I doubt that. You’re the warm-bloodied one here.” He was finally wearing his pajamas, and the way he crawled into bed was just indecent. Harry had troubles closing his mouth.

In a second though Draco was in his arms, and as usual, that meant he had no more complaints. Closing his mind to all the worries and concerns, he simply inhaled him – that lemony scent that drove him absolutely mental. This was what he wanted. This was what he needed. Not even to touch him any more than that – not even to move. Just to hold him, to have him right here, and to hear his heartbeat next to his own.

Draco looked at him, his big eyes molten silver. “You are unbelievable, Potter.”

Harry blanched. “What? Why?”

For a moment he just shook his head. “Just… you are. With everything that’s happened, not even just this year, and you’re still so… it’s unbelievable. And you know what? I don’t even envy you anymore for it. It just makes me fucking happy. I love seeing you like this, all warm and open and candid. And happy. I fucking love seeing you happy.”

There were no words to describe how he felt, so Harry settled for a kiss. He made it as soft and heartfelt as he could. “I love you,” he murmured into Draco’s lips, and felt the reply not only ghosting on his but also in him, warm, fuzzy, bloody great. He kissed him again. They could go on like this all night – who needs sleep? They could do this for the rest of their lives.

Harry leaned his head on Draco’s chest and held him as tight as he could. _Finally_ , he thought, feeling his whole body relaxing into Draco’s warmth. The last few months were so hard. There was so much pain and uncertainty and loss, and at some point it seemed almost impossible for them to get through it. But now, in his warm bed, with the man he loved... The cheery Gryffindor colors of the curtains painted a pretty picture around the pale halo that was Draco. Even if he lived another hundred years, he will never find a thing he would like more. _Finally, I am home_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with that we reached the end of the story! Whew! Only took - really, that many words? Wow. Well. 
> 
> This was actually the first fanfiction piece I ever finished (started like, a hundred or thereabouts?) and it was such a pleasure. I never really considered posting it before, but I'm so very glad I did - receiving your comments and kudos, and genuinely just the thought people are actually _reading_ it, was beyond incredible. It made me so, so, so very happy. Thank you infinitely and forever. 
> 
> This was intended as a first part of a series, so it is very likely that part two will appear at some point... It may take some time, though, as I think I need to concentrate on something a tiny bit less heavy for a while! But in the immortal words of Arnie, I'll be back. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!  
> Robin


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